


Despite the Odds

by Ending_Daley



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: A little bit of everything, Alternate Universes, Angst, Charlie and Elliot, College AU, Events of JW did happen, Events of JW didn't happen, F/M, Family, Fluff, Pre Island, Smut, literally everything and if I haven't done it ask and you will likely receive, post island, they happened differently/the same/scene expansion, wrap them in bubble wrap and never let them go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 220
Words: 440,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4535397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ending_Daley/pseuds/Ending_Daley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts, drabbles and vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. #1 'I'm Married'

**Author's Note:**

> Like the summary suggests, this here will be the home for my clawen prompts, drabbles and any little vignettes I manage to tidy and feel should be read. 
> 
> You can send me prompts at poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr
> 
> (title subject to change. because i am title trash and it's 3am and i can't think of anything better ... or witty ... or something that's not angsty that won't lead to me writing them divorced)

_Prompt: Anonymous - ’I can’t have sex with you. I’m married.’ Drunk Owen said to his wife, Claire, as she tries to get him out of his dirty clothes._

*

It wasn’t every night that Owen managed to stumble through the front door, balance off, limbs completely useless. ‘Whoa there, Soldier,’ Claire teased, watching on from the hallway.

Jason’s bachelor party was an opportunity Owen couldn’t miss. He was a groomsman after all, and for some reason the idea was far too appealing. Owen held a particular fondness for the young monkey keeper, their camaraderie akin to brothers in arms. The announcement of his wedding only set into motion devious plans of a night full of alcohol and quite possibly scantily clad women.

‘Hey, Red,’ he grinned, humour picking up the corners of his mouth, intoxicated and lopsided. She kissed him for his efforts, stepping away from the stairs to greet him just as lazily, but far more controlled. His arms were around her in seconds, the action automatic as Owen pulled her into his body, crushing her with unmeasured strength.

Claire pecked her husband’s lips before stepping back. ‘You smell like a strip club,’ she complained, stale beer, cheap perfume, and too strong cigarettes infiltrating her nose. She wasn’t worried about that night’s events, knowing without a doubt that Owen was faithful, and somewhat dreading the strip club aspect to the night. She would be lying if she denied attending the Chippendale show Karen had dragged her to the month before.

‘Owen,’ she started, her hands held onto his biceps, holding him away from her and keeping him steady. His hands took hold of her hips, gripping her tightly, his lifeline swaying. ’Is that mud?’ Claire asked, horrified and compelled, at the drying mud all over her husband’s clothes.

She had heard of wild nights; this was new.

Claire laughed, a small giggle bubbling up from her throat as Owen shrugged, his body twisting to get a good look at the mess. Her husband mumbled something incoherent, his head dropping to her shoulder, lips pressing kisses to her neck. Claire couldn’t repress the shiver that chased down her spine at the scratch of Owen’s stubble against her neck, his lips soothing the burn.

She pushed at his arms, forcing the broad shouldered man up the stairs and to their bedroom. She was careful on the creaking floorboards, tiptoeing as Owen moved on instinct instead of clarity of mind.

Owen was a handsy drunk, something Claire had seemingly forgotten as the days and nights passed, his fondness for alcohol next to none. HIs hands had snaked up the inside of her t-shirt, counting her ribs and tracing her spine.

Despite his drunken attempts at foreplay, Claire managed the button and zip on his pants, sliding them off his hips before pushing her husband to sit on their bed. Holding a tight grip on her hip, Owen pulled Claire into his lap. Cautious of the filth covering his clothes, Claire kissed him, purring against her husbands lips as his tongue traced her teeth. Her flingers played with the buttons on his shirt, popping them open one by one.

Owen stopped, her lips popping slightly as he stared at her, apologetic. ‘I can’t have sex with you.’ He was dead serious, eyes focused, full of regret. ‘I’m married.’ Claire bit her lip, holding back the chuckle that was bubbling in her chest.

‘Oh,’ Claire squeaked out, her fingers fiddling with the last button on his shirt. She only wanted to make sure that as little mud as possible ended up on her clean linen. Claire said as much to her drunk hulk of a husband, the man’s eyes swimming across her face.

‘You’re sweet,’ he smiled, the expression lazy on his cheeks. It was almost worn, faded around the edges like a beloved picture. He had been smiling at her like that for years. ‘But, I love my wife.’ The sincerity on his face, lacing his voice as his fingers loosened their grip on her hips, was genuine. Claire felt her chest tighten, fondness blooming behind her ribs for the man she was straddling. She loved her ridiculous husband.

Claire smiled, her head tilting ever so softly. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’ Owen nodded, a mumbled ‘ _I’m lucky to have her_ ’ drifting from his lips as he shrugged the shirt off his arms. Kissing his cheek gently, she took Owen’s shirt, and climbed off his lap. She rolled up his jeans, holding them and the shirt against her chest as she looked back one last time at his lazy, loving, smile.

For now, his clothes had to be soaked and his alcohol induced brain needed to recover. Hopefully, after napping it off, he’d go back to torturous kisses against her collarbone, his callous hand counting her ribs, while the other slid between her thighs. This time, remembering that she was his wife.


	2. #2 Bar Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous Prompt: Owen and Claire go out for dinner and drinks post JW and Owen gets handsy at the bar (like you said he got in the last prompt)  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much dinner, but a lot of drinks?? And also not very handsy but I think it still works. It took me all day to get this down, and it’s already longer than expected.

She quit her job. It was hardly unexpected. The third in six months. Claire Dearing was facing a crisis she couldn’t quite solve, her work taking the blows of dissatisfaction. ‘You could run anything, Claire, what’s the problem?’ Owen asked, across the table, watching her defeated face as she looked down at her entree.

‘I don’t want to _control_ things.’

Owen snorted, ‘you love control.’  

Claire only glared at him, his smirk unwavering.

‘It’s not right. It just doesn’t _feel_ right, Owen.’

‘Keep ploughing through corporate businesses like they’re the Sunday crossword, the right one will turn up eventually. Six letters, ending with E.’ He hummed. There was no malice, no disappoint, no lack of respect, Owen understood where she was coming from. The inability to find a comfortable position since leaving Jurassic World. Claire was at odds with herself, far more than he had been, but she would figure it out. Something would land at her feet like it always did.

Owen stood from the table, wallet pulled from his pocket, as he dropped cash beside his plate. ‘What are you doing?’ Claire asked, staring up at him as he extended a hand for her to take.

He smiled at her, fingers wrapping around her delicate hand as she stood slowly. ‘The mood’s not right for this date.’ Claire only arched an eyebrow.

‘I don’t want to go home.’ Although she was wallowing in self confusion she hadn’t meant to put a damper on their date. Owen tucked an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side securely as they stepped out of the restaurant.

He laughed, ‘it’s Friday night, why would we go home?’ Claire blinked up at him, watching the yellow glow of the streetlights cast shadows on his face. Her heels clicked along the sidewalk, the thrum humming in her veins. Down the street music pounded, people’s voices echoed.

Three girls stumbled past them, laughter floating from their red stained mouths. Claire watched them sway in too high heels and too short dresses. ‘Oh no, no, Owen, not happening.’ She protested, disbelief dancing with humour across her lips.

Owen chuckled, his grip on her waist squeezing her gently, ‘I’m not taking you to the nightclub, relax,’ he told her, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. ‘There is, however, a bar around the corner.’

Part of her wanted to protest, to claim she wasn’t in the mood to fend off his advances. Because she knew, without a doubt that he would drink just enough that his hand’s wouldn’t leave her, fingers tracing shapes across her skin, trying within their best attempts to sneak beneath her clothes. She’d decided not to care. Let him lead her to the bar, his arm wrapped around her, his cologne infiltrating her nose.

The establishment was a little more adult, than the night club on the next street over. A live band played covers of songs in the corner while groups of people stuffed themselves around tables and in booths, chatting about their lives over beer and spirits.

They found a place at the bar, Owen ordering a drink for each of them, but not before requesting shots. Claire glared at him, watching the bartender poor tequila into tiny glasses, making them overflow and spill across the bench. ‘I hate you,’ she half hissed, watching as he shook salt onto his wrist.

Owen shrugged, ‘nah, you love me.’

Picking up a shot, Claire motioned a cheers towards her date, ‘unfortunately,’ she teased before sucking the salt from his wrist slowly and downing the shot in her hand. Lime between her teeth she shook her head, fowl taste tingling across her tongue, burning a path down her throat.

Owen stared, watching on with avid fascination as she downed her second and third shot. He followed suit, mimicking her actions, eyes never leaving Claire’s as she laughed, liquor sinking into her blood stream.

The bar moved around them, patron’s laughing, band playing, Owen and Claire completely oblivious.

He had pulled her stool closer, her legs trapped between his. Somewhere between there arrival, and her yelling some bizarre drink order at the bartender, Claire had lost her shoes, her foot tracing lines up the inside of his pant leg.

His hand was wrapped around her thigh, his thumb skirted between her skin and the hem of her dress, inching it up with every pass of his finger. She wasn’t swatting him away, only leaning into him closer, her laughter soft between them as she sipped on red wine.

Owen forgot about his drink, the beer beside his elbow warm, not longer appealing when she was in close proximity, her cheeks pink with heat and liquor. He leant forward, arm wrapping around her waist and up her back, counting her vertebrae as his fingers climbed. Owen buried his head into her neck, inhaling the scent of Chanel No. 5, and something that was particularly Claire. He kissed a slow, slightly sloppy path up her neck, Claire giggling in his ear.

She tasted like tequila when his lips met hers, mad and passionate as her tongue slipped between his teeth. She mewled softly, hand curling against his shirt. She giggled when he tried to pull her into his lap, her hands solidifying against his chest as she pulled back. ‘I’m not having sex with you in a public bathroom, again, Owen.’ Her voice was stern, completely aware of his intentions.

Owen blinked up at her, playing smug innocent as a faux pout pulled at his lips. She kissed him gently, mouths barely meeting, before she asked him to dance. Her shoes were back on her feet, her step straight and calculated, tipsy Claire didn’t sway if she could help it. Owen followed, his hand in hers, as she lead him to the small group of people dancing to the young man who strummed on his guitar.

Owen kept a hand on her hip, fingers pressed into her skin. She never saw it as claim, his hands fluttering over her, a hand always present on her hip or holding onto her fingers. The second would linger, count her bones, trace the lines of her arms, cup the side of her breast if he was being particularly frisky. He would tease her, keeping the touch brief, slightly, barely there before it was somewhere else. Her whole body hummed for him, just the way he wanted. She didn’t mind. He was always clear, expressive with his emotions, she always knew how he felt, but the feel of his hands on her was never an unpleasant reassurance.


	3. #3 Claire Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clawen prompt(s)! ‘Shut it, Grady’ ‘Make me, Dearing’ OR Owen likes to tease Claire about the nickname ‘ClaireBear’ her family calls her. Thinking about a mix of these two prompts would be great! 

Karen had always been the keeper of family history. Even as a little girl she kept guard over family pictures, sharing them only on request. Karen knew every detail behind every story regardless of if she was present or not.

Naturally, the second Claire stepped away from Owen, Karen pounced. ‘Honestly, we’ve been here a whole thirty minutes. You couldn’t wait until after dinner.’ Claire sighed, exasperated already at Karen’s eager attitude towards hers and Owen’s relationship. Claire knew that her sister was only excited to have her back in her life, plus one.

Karen grinned, handing Owen the tick album Claire easily recognised. ‘Where’s the fun in that, Claire Bear?’ Karen teased, smile too eager.

‘Yeah, _Claire Bear_.’ Owen chimed in, shit eating grin setting dimples in his cheeks.

The nickname felt odd coming from his lips, unfamiliar and wrong. ’Shut it, Grady.’ She threw at him, arms crossing over her chest. Karen teased her sometimes, pulling out Claire Bear on the odd occasion, other than that, the nickname belonged to their father. The childish name he used to call his baby girl as he tucked her into his arms, or embarrassed her in front of her friends.

His grin never wavered, eyes caught to the little girl in the picture on his lap. Claire Dearing, age seven, standing beside her proud father. Team Claire Bear, written on a banner in his hand, a first place ribbon in hers. ‘Make me, Dearing.’ He tossed over his shoulder.

The swift smack to the back of his head was unexpected but well deserved. ‘Oi, fowl play’ he complained hand rubbing at the back of his head. Claire grinned when his eyes met hers, wounded and mockingly betrayed.

‘I’d be far more apologetic if you weren’t asking for it.’ She told him, smug.

‘Oh, c’mon, that’s nowhere near the team spirit!’ Owen tapped the picture in his lap, the little red-head smiling along side her team mates, victory clearly theirs. Claire sighed, bending at the waist to leave across the back of the couch. She kissed his cheek gently in a soft apology. Owen grinned, ‘much better, Claire Bear.’

She smacked him again.


	4. #4 One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen calling Claire 'baby girl'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this prompt was open I decided to take it down the angsty path. I'm sorry. 
> 
> I want to trigger warn that it contains a miscarriage.

He almost crashed into their bedroom, hands grasping the door frame to stop his body’s momentum. His heart was pounding in his chest, the sound resinating through his ears. Claire had left a voicemail on his phone, her voice quiet, shaking, trying to stay calm. It was the message that had him racing to the carpark and breaking several driving laws just to get home.

‘ _It’s happening again_.’

Just as he had started to get excited. He couldn’t help himself. Claire, on the other hand was prepared to fail, or at least that’s what he thought. She was unattached, unemotional, eyes straight ahead just waiting for bad news or hit the safe mark. It was all too much to hope for.

She was hiding in the far corner of their bedroom, propped up against the wall that separated the room from their wardrobe, head against the wall beside her. Her fingers absently played with a small cloth pouch, the satin ribbon sliding against her skin. She turned to look at him slowly, each movement she made a physical pain. Claire’s bottom lip wobbled, one, twice, three times before a sob ripped through her throat.

Owen dropped to the floor beside her, devastation weighing down at his shoulders as he pulled Claire into his arms. ‘What did I do?’ She cried into his chest, her hands curling clumps of his shirt around her fingers, the pouch still held in her hand. Her whole body shook. He took the small item from her, closing his hand around it gently as she softly tapped at the ribbon between his fingers. ‘I was given that last time, volunteers knit tiny white booties and beanies for parents who suffer loss through miscarriage. They put them in these soft little pouches.’ She exhaled a shaky breath. ‘I don’t want another one, Owen.’ Her voice cracked, sobs shaking her chest. He didn’t know what to say.

Owen only held her tighter, rubbing soothing circles on her back as he willed his heart not to break.

He listened to her cry, heavy sobs threatening to crack her chest as she whimpered variations of self pity. Claire Dearing didn’t ask for much, in fact, she didn’t ask for anything. All she wanted lately was this, she _really_ wanted _this_.

He rocked her, muttering words of encouragement, love, reassurance, promises he shouldn’t be trying to make. So far nothing was certain. Life wasn’t betting on their odds. Owen dropped kisses to her hair, listening as her cries waned in an out, their desperation harrowing. ‘Oh baby girl,’ he muttered into her hair, clutching her tighter, hoping it was enough.

Owen thought she had fallen asleep, her voice quiet, her cries small hiccups, her body tense against his. He lifted her, arm behind her shoulders, the other under her knees. He held her for a second, hoping that it could be that easy. Just holding her. Nothing got better just like that. Rome wasn’t built in a day, her heart wouldn’t start to mend for a month. He lowered her slowly to the mattress, covering her in a throw blanket before he climbed up behind her, one arm hooked over her hip protectively, hand spread across her stomach.

‘Adopting a dog would have been easier than this,’ she whispered, voice quiet and raw. She couldn’t cry anymore. Owen hummed. A dog would have been easier. But not the same. They’d already had that argument, stalking each other back and forth as they made fettuccine from scratch.

A dog wasn’t the same as a baby.

‘Do you want me to get Karen?’ He was uncertain of his place. Last time, she didn’t want to look at him. Last time she only glared through half hooded eyes and pushed him away, yelling at him for touching her. Last time they’d only been together six months.

Last time she blamed him.

He didn’t even know about the pouch that held too small booties, clearly hidden away in their wardrobe all these years. He wanted to be mad, but right now he couldn’t, not as her stomach cramped, forcing away her hope. Claire laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand weakly, ‘I just need you to hold me,’ she whispered her hand a dead weight.

Her body was a tense coil next to his, she was wound tight from her head to her toes, aching all over, as shuddering sobs filtered past her lips. The tears were gone. The heartache still there. He held her tight, listening to her breathing, trying to be supportive without saying anything. What was there to say?

‘I can’t do this, Owen, I can’t.’ It was already done, her body just forcing her through aftershocks, immobilising her, forcing her to think. Claire pulled herself into a shaky sitting position, Owen right beside her, one hand at her hip, the other against her shoulder, ready to keep her upright or lay her down. ‘I can’t do this.’ She stared at him, the usual blue of her iris turquoise against her puffy, red, eyes. ‘The ultrasound, the D&C, the sweet experienced nurse and grief counsellor who’ll say ‘ _you’ll always be their mom_ ’, I can’t. Not again, I - oh god.’ She stopped herself, body swaying, waist bending. ‘I’m going to be sick,’ Claire announced, before pushing herself up and racing to the bathroom.

Owen followed her slowly, his own body heavy. Last time she excluded him, going through it alone - Karen by her side. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. All he knew was that he wanted to wrap her in his arms, tell her that he loved her, and keep her there until the pain stopped, until her body relaxed, until she could make it through twenty seconds without choking on her tears. He just wanted her to be okay.

He sat with her on the cold bathroom tiles, his hand in hers. The air around them quiet, nothing but heart broken hiccoughs.

Owen pressed a kiss to her temple, his head resting there momentarily. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, needing to reassure her more than she needed the reassurance. ‘We’ll get our time, one day.’ He pressed a second kiss to her temple as Claire’s chest heaved a sigh, hitching on what he knew would be another sob. Tears glistened in her eyes, the well not completely dry, as she nodded her head softly, accepting his slight promise.

‘One day,’ Claire echoed, voice breaking.


	5. #5 Lightweight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt: cute, handsy, silly drunk Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to come back and revisit this idea when I have a little more time (read: I'm going to do this prompt twice) because I KNOW it CAN be so much better. But I have to upload a prompt a day or else the world will fall apart (I say that now, watch it slowly deteriorate).

She giggled, hiccough interrupting the sound. She was unsteady on her feet, her arm around his waist, upper body leaning on him heavily. Her glee was continuous, bubbly, infectious.

His chest felt tight, heart blooming. He felt warm, summer nights, cold beer, a well executed dinner. Claire’s small hand slipped into the back pocket of his pants, squeezing his ass firmly. She giggled, body pulling away from his as she stepped in front of him, flirtatious smirk on her face. She was so far beyond simple, innocent, flirtation, tonight alone would keep her repenting for her sins for years. 

‘Claire,’ he warned, eyes watching the people around them. Tonight was the Zoo’s annual fundraiser dinner. As a trainer Owen was expected to make an appearance, as the woman who organised it, Claire had to attend. Together, it was their first night way from home, out as adults, in two months. 

Her small finger hooked itself between the middle two buttons on his shirt, pulling him forward. ‘Oh, c’mon lover,’ she purred, ‘Karen has the baby tonight.’ She hinted, in case he had forgotten about their eight week old infant.

Owen stared at her, his wife, drunk off two glasses of red wine, calling him lover in a soft seductive tone. His bold and fierce angel, Claire Dearing in all her lightweight glory. She was going to be the death of him. ’When did you turn into such a cheap date?’ He asked, teasing her fondly, watching the woman in front of him sway out of beat with the music. He pulled her into him. There had been a time, just after the island, where she managed to drink him under the table, remaining upright and clear of mind. Her trick had always been silence, holding constraint on her mouth as to not appear loose in the tongue. That Claire had clearly bid adieu. 

She giggled, again. The noise hadn’t stopped if he was being honest. The night was warm, the music pleasant, the drinks over flowing. No one was harassing him for numbers and statistics, no one wanted a personal tour and private screening with the big cats. Owen was free to enjoy the company of his wife, slinky black dress, and warm weathered night. 

Claire leant into his chest, humming, giggle still drifting past her lips. ‘Sometime after giving birth to your eleven pound son.’ The pressure of her hands against his chest shifted, as she reached, on tip toes to press her lips to his in an innocent kiss. 

Owen laughed against her lips, ‘hey now, Noah’s not here to defend himself.’ He teased, hands settling on her hips as he tried to sway them both with the music.

‘He can defend the Seahawks to the super bowl.’ She shot back, eyes flittering over the expanse of his shoulders. There was no denying their son wouldn’t develop into his father’s build, sport breathing in his blood, if not - the military. 

Her hands drifted from his chest, skating down the sides of his ribs, catching on the loops of his pants. ‘Claire, we can’t leave for another hour,’ Owen warned, her hands skipping over the front of his pants, fingers catching ever so slightly against his fly.  
‘No one will miss us.’ She was in true form, he mused, nonchalant about the outcome of an event or her incessant requirement for being there. Owen chuckled, pecking a kiss to her forehead, trying to keep it safe. 

She giggled when his fingers wrapped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from his body. ‘You’re making this harder than it needs to be.’ 

‘Maybe that’s exactly how I want it,’ she purred, blue eyes locking on his, refusing to break contact. She batted her eye lashes at him, pupils blown wide, cheeks pink. He didn’t want to fend her off, her low tolerance to alcohol had lowered the carefully constructed professional walls Claire put in place. She had scared some of the donors and staff, polite Claire had transformed into giggly, friendly, genuine Claire. And, god, was she adorable when she smiled properly, full grin, deep dimples, eyes alight with joy. 

He dropped her wrists. Claire was molten gold against him, red hot, pure perfection. Who was he to deny this giggling goddess with her hands all over him, slipping into the creases of his clothes, finding skin without permission. She traced circles on his skin, figure eights, circles. Her pattern deteriorated, shifting shapes and angles in lazy distraction. 

Claire grinned, tongue between her teeth. Owen threw one last glance at the dinner guests, his wife wrapped in his arms, her fingers starting to stray. No one seemed to notice them, no one begged for their attention. ‘Oh, fuck it,’ Owen cursed, eyes to the stars before he tucked a kiss against Claire’s ear. ‘They’re not going to miss us,’ he tugged on her hand, not failing to catch the look of pure child-like glee that formed across Claire’s cheeks, her lips pursed together in a subtly pleased smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light house keeping:
> 
> I'm back at work (and Uni) full time as of tomorrow. I still have prompts sitting in my inbox (I love each and every one of them - so thank you to those of you who've sent one ((and you still can!)) they make me laugh - especially all the drunk prompts). 
> 
> I promise though, each one will get done, and if your prompt hasn't turned up yet, it will, or it's one of the two and I'm avoiding it at all costs until my human brain works again. ;) 
> 
> ONE PROMPT A DAY IS THE GOAL.


	6. #6 Delilah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen surprises Claire for their anniversary!

The house was quiet when she stepped through the front door. She toed her shoes off, and hung up her jacket, calling out for Owen before stepping further into their home.

‘Hey babe,’ Owen grinned, greeting her from the kitchen doorway, the door shut behind him, the handle in his hand. 

Claire eyed him cautiously, ‘what are you hiding?’ Owen shrugged, innocently answering with ‘nothing’ as something thudded against the door. Her voice dropped, his name falling from her lips with caution. The noise sounded again. Claire took a step towards Owen, smile cracking across her lips. Owen matched her grin. 

‘Happy Anniversary,’ he opened the door behind him silently. Claire watched, waiting for what he was going to reveal, her blue eyes wide. She waited a beat on bated breath. Nothing. ‘Wait a sec,’ he spun on the spot, checking around the door before disappearing behind it. 

Claire couldn’t wait, she tip toed behind her husband. She crept around the door, eyes flitting aross the room, unsure as to what she should be expecting. Owen appeared from behind the counter, small bundle in his arms. His name fell on a sigh. She stood still, staring at the fluffy champagne border collie, pastel blue ribbon tied loosely around it’s white neck. 

‘A puppy?’ she asked, her voice quiet with surprise. She extended a hand to the soft, small head of the tiny animal, the contrast so different compared to her bulky large husband. 

Owen watched her, the surprise on Claire’s face, the hesitation that morphed into instant love when the puppy mewled. ‘She was the last of her litter, a little on the small side. She needed someone for survival.’ 

Claire grinned, taking the small dog into her hands, ‘well, we’re certainly the two people she needs then, aren’t we?’ she studied the puppy, holding the animal up to her eyes. Blue met blue, the puppy cried. ‘What’s her name?’ Claire asked, turning her attention back to Owen. 

He smiled, long and slow, the emotion taking over his whole being. This is what they needed. ‘What do you want to name her?’ Claire’s eyes shone with the possibility. 

‘Delilah,’ she whispered, holding the puppy to her chest, fingers in the dog’s short fur. Owen agreed. ‘You know, I would have been happy with dinner and candles,’ she muttered, putting the squirming dog back on the floor. 

‘But this is better, right?’ 

Claire nodded, ‘right.’ 

(404 words)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My puppies are legitimately Charlie and Delta so I couldn't resist sticking at least one of them in Claire and Owen's lives. My Starbuck is a champagne border collie and she's sooooo cute.


	7. #7 Revealed Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Claire left Owen a message (drunk confession) last night. It wasn’t until the next morning that Owen decides to check his messages & Claire surprisingly pays him a visit in his bungalow trying to distract him from ever hearing it. 

_‘You’ve crawled under my skin, caused an itch I can’t quite scratch. I think I need you, Owen … at first, I didn’t even like you! You wore board shorts to a date, that - that’s unforgivable, Owen, you know it - it should be illegal. But, god damn, I can’t get you out of my head.’_

*

Claire groaned into her pillow, headache pounding in her temporal lobe, serving as a reminder for bad judgement and alcohol consumption way over the respectable limit.

Her phone buzzed under the pillow, Claire blindly grasped for it, her hands gliding against the linen until she bumped the small device. 6:30am, blared back at her obnoxiously along with a text from Zara.

Claire stared at her phone, ’Did you hear from board shorts?’ The message was time stamped just after 1:00am. She squinted at the device, the screen brightness burning into her retina as he head continued to pound. Her mouth was dry, her tongue cotton, the taste of vodka faintly clinging to her fuzzy teeth.

She buried her head back into her pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Claire chose to ignore Zara’s ambiguous message, compelled as to what the hell her assistant had meant. Her conscious was pulling away, tugging at the ends of her hair like daring sirens trying to pull her into the depths enticing her with warm dreams. Something in her head clicked into place, board shorts, Owen, the night before. She and Zara were celebrating the woman’s engagement, pouring glass of wine after glass of wine until they ran out and had to scour her cupboards for anything stronger. Zara had dialled his number.

Claire couldn’t grasp the memory, not in it’s entirety. She had annoyed Zara with her incessant rambling about the raptor trainer, her words nonsense until the phone was shoved into her hand, the dial tone ringing in her ears.

‘Oh fuck,’ Claire cursed her self, sitting up and dropping her heavy head into her hands. She had mewled ridiculous things into his answering machine, things she couldn’t completely remember, but bad enough in her hazy memory that Claire knew she needed to avoid him at all costs. This was it, ground zero. Owen’s charm was thick enough without her added confession of attraction. With this in his arsenal, he would never relent.

She looked at her phone a second time, dread setting like lead in the pit of her stomach. Nothing. Nothing from Owen. He hadn’t called her back. He hadn’t answered her calls. Had he got them at all? She sprung up, despite her weary head. Wobbling in front of her wardrobe a bit, Claire grabbed the first two things she saw and threw them on. There was a chance, the slightest though it may be, that Owen hadn’t checked his messages. That her recorded calls, drunk Claire, slurring words of need, had gone unheard. She could save herself from embarrassment if she got to them first.

She ran a brush through her hair, and quickly cleaned her teeth, before running out the door, intent on being presentable, but too scared that she would leave it too long. Her car rumbled quietly along the park’s dirt roads, her foot resting heavily on the accelerator.

It was quiet out, Jurassic World, preparing to open, weekend staff coming in on the ferry, switching out with those who were granted a couple of days off. The weather promised to be good, sun warming the earth, not a cloud in sight.

Light shone from the lake beside Owen’s bungalow, reflecting off the water, trapping itself in the trees. Claire panicked, her car shut off, she had no plan of action. She got out regardless, sensible flats on her feet instead of heels. She wasn’t in the mindset to be storming around six inches off the ground. She just wanted the messages deleted from his phone, then she could go back to her half day off.

The air around the bungalow was smooth, tracked down to birds in the trees and a few remaining cicadas. She couldn’t hear Owen. His bike sat beside the porch. Did that mean he was home? She had been to his bungalow on two separate occasions, both for work, both demanding he finalise some unfinished paperwork. The last time she was there he asked her to dinner, nonchalant as he scribbled his signature across the bottom of a performance review. She agreed mostly to shut him up, but also out of intrigue. Owen Grady had flustered her enough since he started working on Isla Nublar. Claire would be a liar if she didn’t admit, a date with him could have potentially been fascinating.

And it was, if fascinating resided in all the ways a date could go horribly wrong.

Tension had sat between them, quietly simmering before their date. It now bubbled furiously, crackling in the air whenever they got close. She refused to give him a second chance. The tension would have to learn to simmer down and go away.

Claire hesitated at the steps to his porch, her hand hovering over the rail for a millisecond. She recovered, climbing the stairs and reaching his door before it all fell apart again. What was she going to do? She could knock, wake him, if he was home, and then try to get her hands on his phone. She didn’t want to confront him, concoct a silly lie as to why she was at his bungalow at seven in the morning. She had nothing. She could be honest, tell him about the messages. Claire didn’t trust him, didn’t know him well enough to think that he wouldn’t insist on listening to them with her standing right in front of him. Of course he would choose that option. Humiliation, the blush across her cheeks, it would be a temptation too sweet for Owen Grady.

The door in front of her sat open, only the fly screen separating the inside of his bungalow to the wilderness of Isla Nublar. The hard wood door that sat behind it was propped wide open, a pair of work books holding it in place. Claire reached tentatively for the handle on the screen door. It turned without a hitch.

He seemed like the kind of careless who would just toss his phone on the counter or the couch. It would be easy, she reasoned. Sneak in. Owen wouldn’t notice.

Claire Dearing crept into Owen’s bungalow, slipping her shoes off at the door, leaving her to tiptoe with bare feet. She held her breath, immediately moving to the right where she could see the kitchen. She checked the countertop, across a few shelves, and even the small dining table Owen had set up, paperwork littering the surface. His phone wasn’t there.

She moved onto the living room, her fingers physically crossed in the hope that she would find it. The coffee table was bare bar from a candle, a few select magazine subscriptions and the TV remote.The couch too, held nothing. Claire dropped to her hands and knees, convinced his phone would be there, maybe just under the coffee table, kicked to the side after a long week.

‘Claire?’ Owen’s voice queried, quiet and gravelly from sleep. Face pressed to the rug below her, Claire jumped, hitting her head on the table as she flipped. Owen stood behind her, hair tossed, and clad in only a pair of navy blue boxer shorts. He scrubbed a hand over his face, blinking a few times before opening his mouth. She could see the confusion reflecting in his green eyes. She was caught, not only by him, but caught on him, her eyes scattering over the large expanse of skin he had on display. Claire could feel her cheeks flush pink. ’What are you doing?’

She stuttered, mouth open for a second, as she dragged her eyes from his chest to his face. ‘Do you know how stupid it is to leave your front door open while you sleep?’ she asked, lecturing him slightly.

Owen’s face hardened a little, ‘did you come all the way over here to tell me that?’

‘Well, no, I - I,’ she stuttered, mentally cursing herself. Claire had never been a good liar, not when it came to spontaneity. Little lies, she could manage. The kind of lies that explained your way out of being found in a colleague’s home - a colleague whom of which she had horribly dated - in the early hours of Saturday morning, where not the kind of thing she was good at. ‘Why aren’t you putting on any clothes?’ she asked, accidentally, as her eyes wandered for the fourth time. What was he doing? Trying to kill her?

He stared at her, hand touching his chest, ’that’s your question?’ Claire swallowed visibly, her eyes not meeting his, she nodded, tongue darting across her lips. She groaned inwardly, cursing whatever god had plagued her in the past year.

There had been a considerable drought in her life concerning attractive, able, men. She had been the reason for that drought, tough, cold, unobtainable Claire Dearing who wouldn’t let a man look at her before knowing where he stood. She was content, for a little while. Until her date with Owen blew up in their faces, her aggravation over his board shorts, and insistence for tequila to ‘loosen her up’ pushing her over the edge. It was him, she was convinced, the way he smelt of sandalwood and earth, 100% raw pure human being. His constant affections, teasing words, smug looks, wormed their way into her bone, settling themselves under her skin until she couldn’t help but feel warm when he shamelessly flirted with her. He set her on fire with a single look. What was wrong with her?

Owen didn’t move, only stared her down, still incredulous as to why she was there. The sound of her not so subtly searching his home, waking him with a jolt. He crossed his arms over his chest, their date was a month a go, he’d moved on, his ego recovered. They had returned to his over the top innuendo, and her pretending not to smile. ‘Honestly, Claire, what’re you doing here?’

‘Where’s your phone?’ she asked meekly, eyes diverting to a bare wall.

‘I accidentally left it at the raptor paddock yesterday, why? Has something happened?’ She didn’t look guilty per se, but then again, he had caught her raiding his living room for something she, so far, refused to fess up to. He worried for a second that something was wrong with his girls, it was the only other reason as to why Claire would be there, something had to be wrong.

Claire looked sheepish, her cheeks flushing a shade darker. ‘I might have drunk called you last night, and I would really love to delete those messages.’ Owen’s face lit up, his whole expression changing. He looked like a kid on Christmas, she reminisced, albeit a slightly more grown up one.

‘What kind of sordid affair did you own up to, Ms Dearing?’ He asked, smug grin pulling it’s way across his cheeks. This was so high school, her cheeks grew hotter under his scrutiny. She couldn’t look at him. Owen stepped closer to her, Claire still sitting on the floor between his coffee table and couch.

‘Nothing,’ she half whined, eyes turning to his, determined to stare him down. She wasn’t one to back off from a fight, Claire reasoned, she got caught in his living room, she would work her way out of it.

Owen chuckled, throaty, somehow a little geeky. How did he manage to look like raw sex but still laughed like a geeky teen? She bit her lip, trying to force away the smile, the fondness. She would make it out of his bungalow alive. ‘My, my, was someone looking for a second date? You know, if you just let go of the reins last time, we would have been fine.’ Claire arched an eyebrow. No chance in hell. Despite her indifference to his opinion, her eyes flittered, nervousness breaking through. Owen didn’t miss a beat, realising that he was onto something. ‘Wait, no - it was a drunk booty call, wasn’t it, Claire?’ he teased, watching as a flush rose up her neck, connecting with her beat red cheeks. Right on target.

‘Don’t be crass, Mr. Grady.’ Claire brushed off the comment as nonchalant as her voice would allow. ‘It wasn’t anything like that,’ she glared at him, encouraged to defend herself.

Owen grinned, the smile not fading from his face as he watched her, flustered and uncomfortable on his living room floor. ‘So,’ he started, readjusting his muscled arms over sculpted chest. ‘Just help me out for a second, because I’m trying to understand your situation. You came over here, half hungover, on your morning off to sneak into my house and delete messages off my phone? Messages, that you say aren’t filthy in nature.’ She wanted to shift the atrocious look from his face, shit eating grin cutting into her nerves.

‘Well, no.’ Claire picked herself up, realising, although she could defend herself in any manner, doing so from the floor, with Owen Grady, shirtless, and standing over her, was not working in her favour. ‘No. The door was open, I didn’t _sneak_ in.’

‘You’re not in trouble here, Claire.’ His tone was mockingly reminiscent of scolding parents and stern teachers. Not that she had ever been on the end of either. The glee was almost unmistakable, his pleasure in riling her up a complete visual on his face. There was absolutely no way she could talk herself out of this.

‘I just want the messages gone,’ she was seriously starting to regret the night before, happy for Zara but never trusting in her again.

‘Alright,’ she stared, watching his face soften, his ever present humour melting away. Surely she was imagining his easy acceptance.

Claire muttered a soft, ‘what?’ in disbelief.

Owen shrugged, ’I’ll delete them.’

‘Really?’

He nodded, sincere, ‘yeah, um, I had plans to go check on the girls later anyway. I’ll delete them as soon as I get the chance.’ Claire nodded, a little uncertain of herself as she ran her hands over the ends of her shirt. She no longer needed to be there.

‘I should go,’ she muttered, straightening her clothes for a second time. She avoided Owen’s eyes, Owen in general, struggling to keep eye contact when he insisted on remaining so scantly clothed. Claire thought he was a distracting, from the floor, standing inches away from him, her height just surpassing his shoulders, proved more difficult.

Owen reached out for her, his hand gracing her arm, a playful proposition on his tongue. Her hand twitched, daring to touch him back. Daring to take him up on a morning of slow cooked breakfast and cuddling. Her head pounded, the after shocks of alcohol abuse threatening to dispel her equilibrium. She just wanted to curl back into bed for another hour. Something within her, a nasty little thought, teased that she could just as easily do the same with Owen. No. That was why she was there. Making sure those messages were gone so they could go back to quietly hating each other, while sexual frustration ruined them for other people.

Owen let her go when she politely declined.

Claire returned to her day, her drunken admissions for something close to lust, pushed out of her mind. She did not need Owen Grady. She could manage just fine on her own, had done so already. She napped for an hour, settling back into her sheets, aspirin easing her aching head.

She was doing laundry, moving clothes from the machine to the dryer, lazily. The latest issue of Vouge sat open on the counter, her attention drawn to it more than her soaking clothes. Her phone rang, vibrating across her small dining table. She picked it up, answering it without checking the caller ID.

‘I can’t get you out of my head.’ His low voice travelled through the speaker, setting Claire’s nerve endings on fire.

He had listened to her messages. She couldn’t find the strength to be mad, she almost expected it. Not a single word of promise drifted form his smug lips. Curiosity killed the cat. She exhaled shakily, ‘Owen,’ Claire warned, low belly dread tying a knot in her stomach.

‘No,’ he stopped her, ‘seriously, Claire. Our date was a nightmare, but, that doesn’t mean there isn’t something boiling between us, red hot, setting everything on fire. Can’t you feel it? I swear, it’s worse than the actual heat. I _need_ you too, I - god - I _want_ you.’

She couldn’t help the slight tingle of arousal that trickled down her spine, or the flush that climbed up her chest. ‘Owen, this is inappropriate.’ She breathed slowly, her heart frozen in her chest.

‘Alcohol doesn’t make shit up, it only voices thoughts you’ve had before.’ His voice was quiet, soft, a little scratchy. There was a slight lilt to his tone, something she couldn’t put her finger on, but instantly recognised when he let out a shaky, unstable breath. He was just as on edge as she was.

She whimpered at the realisation, knowing full well that she meant what she said. It was just that the timing was wrong, and she would have preferred to never speak of it - ever. ‘Where are you?’ she asked, softly, her intentions bold. Her eyebrows knitted together, her inner voice asking where the hell that question had come from.

Owen was silent, she heard him swallow hard, before responding. ‘At - at the raptor paddock.’

‘How long’ll it take you to get to your bungalow?’ He went silent again, her inner voice screaming. Her body was humming with anticipation. So what their date had gone badly, so what she wanted to rip his face off half the time. The man knew how to turn her on, setting her body on a low hum, and shutting off her brain. How’d he even manage to find those switches? By this point, she didn’t care.

His response came on a low growl, he knew what she had in mind. Ten minutes was all it took, her car crunching along the loose dirt and gravel beside his bungalow. He was already there, bike back beside the porch, hands in his pockets as he leant against the railing. Suddenly she felt uncertain, a knot tightening in her stomach as her hands began to shake. Her steps were uncertain against the ground, her eyes unable to fixate on one spot.

Owen waited for her to reach him, confidence rolling off his body in waves. She was disappointed to find him with his clothes on, small pout pulling at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t pouting for long, the second her foot touched the top of the porch, Owen had her face in his hands, his lips crashing against hers, tongues colliding in a heartbeat.

He broke away from her when air became a necessity. ’Fuck,’ Owen breathed, dropping his forehead to Claire’s. ‘Why haven’t we done that before?’ Claire didn’t respond, only raised herself up on tiptoes to kiss him again her arms sliding around his neck, holding them both in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know how this got so long, and I'm sorry that it didn't EXACTLY follow the prompt, but I clearly got carried away.


	8. #8 - Employee Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Person B spitting out their drink the first time they see Person A in a swimsuit/lingerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another example of my not knowing where to stop. I still don't know how I feel about this. Sorry.

Simon Masrani was a firm believer in the satisfaction of his park’s guests, attractions, and employees. The yearly summer get together was a business event, set up specifically for the Jurassic World staff to mingle, let loose, and connect with one an other on a human level.

Claire hated the idea of taking time off in her afternoon. The park was closed, maintenance executed in their slowest week just before summer settled itself across the island. There was nothing for her to do and yet, she felt her time could be spent doing more important menial tasks rather than mingling at a beachside barbecue.

Masrani insisted that her appearance be compulsory and unavoidable. ‘You need to let your hair down, Claire,’ his voice sung. ‘What better way than congregating with your fellow employees. Most of which work under you, you know.’ She had rolled her eyes when he wasn’t looking, posture still straight as she willed herself to smile. How painful could it be, turn up, smile, an hour tops, that’s all she’ll need to be there for.

It wasn’t as simple as she expected. The heat was atrocious, sticky with humidity, forcing Claire away from the wardrobe she preferred, the wardrobe suitable for sitting in an air-conditioned office. She was left with no choice to hollow out the back of her wardrobe, seeking out a bathing suit and light dress. Sitting beach side, working on team building skills, or playing volley ball, was not the place for power dresses’ and pant suits.

Begrudgingly she threw on what she could find, her swimmers - Claire would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit a certain weakness for the beach - the simple pull over dress, and a pair of sandals, she forgot she owned.

*

‘Free bar’ had been the exact words that pulled Owen in every year. He would have attended regardless, but it was the bar that pulled him in, and the bar that made him stay.

Owen and Barry claimed their usual spots, cold beer’s beside their hand’s. They managed to chat successfully with the other keepers of the park, answering questions about the raptor’s an promising visits to the other paddocks. A few veterinary nurses, young women who handled the park’s dinosaurs with the utmost of respect, asked them to join in a game of Flags. It was elementary stuff, the kind of things Surf Life Savers taught their youth recruits. It was a game none the less, racing up and down the beach, diving into the sand.

Teams were divided, Owen versus Barry, miscellaneous park rangers split between them. Lauren eyed him off, teasingly poking her tongue out at Owen, both of them toeing the start line. ‘Game on, Grady!’

Owen was intent, toes buried in the sand, focus on the flags in front of him. Eye on the prize. Someone called their mark, readying them before shouting a sharp ‘go!’ Owen ran on his toes, sprinting for the flag. Lauren was right next to him, grin on her lips as wedged her shoulder into his ribs, sending the Owen crashing into the sand.

‘Cheater!’ He called out, rolling onto his back as Lauren bounced, flag and the first victory for her team, in her hand. He stayed there for a second, eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. The sun agreed against his face, until it didn’t, a shadow causing overcast. Owen blinked his eyes open, slowly staring up at the figure shielding his eyes.

He expected Barry, even Lauren with an apology, Owen however, did not expect Claire Dearing to be standing beside his hip. A small smile graced her lips, humour tugging at the corners of her mouth. Owen smiled back, grinning his best grin as she uttered his name with a nod of her head, ‘Mr. Grady.’

Owen struggled to his feet, off balance in her presence alone. He’d known her, briefly, for two years, the maturing of his raptor’s finally drawing some attention from the asset management team, regardless, that his girls’ were not an attraction. Claire had chased him down more than once, seeking out paperwork and signatures. He saw her in the halls on occasion, her heels clacking in the main building, echoing in Control. His interactions were limited, his infatuation intense.

Claire Dearing was straight lines and pristine clothes, red hair and freckled cheeks. She looked like the kind of girl he would have known in his youth, sweet country girl, but she was quiet the opposite. Strict, controlled, from wealthy money. He wanted to know her, to understand her. The humour was there, pushing dimples into her cheeks at his slight wisecracks. His ability to push her buttons, to make her crack, were always met with unamused eyes and a slight curve of her mouth.

‘Claire Dearing, as I live and breathe.’ The dimple in her cheeks made an appearance. Owen studied her, her hair wavy under a wide brimmed black hat, make-up light, her clothes black instead of white. That was the difference, almost off putting. Simple black slip dress, the fabric almost sheer. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ He asked, brushing the sand off his board shorts.

‘The bar’s open,’ Claire tilted her head to the left, curiosity furrowing in her brow. ‘Surely you knew that already?’

Owens cheeks flushed, ‘well, yeah, but,’ he stumbled, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. What was it about Claire Dearing that made him feel fifteen again? ‘I’m just trying to be nice.’ He was convinced his courage would come back, the usual, giddy, self-assured Owen Grady; the man who would work up the courage to ask her on a date.

Claire nodded softly, accepting his first question without tracking back. She remained unapologetic as she followed Owen to the bar, the man taking a seat on the stool he had earlier vacated.

He called his order, the same ice cold beer he’d already had today. Turning to Claire, Owen asked her poison. Delicately, head held neatly above her shoulders, hair cropped around her face regardless of the wild curls, she answered, ‘lemonade’.

‘C’mon, you gotta order something stronger. Literally anything.’ He teased, a finger daring to poke her in the ribs. Claire buckled slightly, her body swaying, her option stayed the same. Owen obliged.

With their drinks in front of them, Owen faltered. What was he to do when he had her so close to where he wanted her. He couldn’t ask her out, not here, not at a work function. She’d kill him, he knew that much about her.

‘This is new,’ he pointed a pinkie in her general direction, Claire hummed, asking a suspicious ‘what’ as she sipped on her measly lemonade. ‘Black; you don’t wear it all that often.’ Owen shrugged, trying to prevent his inventory of her wardrobe from spilling out of his mouth. Navy blue was the darkest colour he’d seen on her, and even then the pencil skirt was matched off with a white blouse.

‘Doesn’t exactly mean it’s new.’ He shrugged again, there was no use in arguing particulars with Claire Dearing. ‘I’ve had it for years, used to wear it to the beach a lot, back when I had time to swim.’ Claire tutted, pleased to have surprised him.

‘I hardly see you as the kind of girl who frequents the beach,’ his eyes traced over the lines of her pale skin. Her freckles weren’t prominent, faded just slightly, too many months hidden under make up and locked away indoors. He wondered, briefly, if new freckles would spark across her face after today. Would she let herself stay out long enough for that to happen?

Claire grinned, her shoulders rising and falling, ‘your loss, Mr. Grady’.

Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t tell, her cool tone remained indifferent. He barely managed a, ‘Call me Owen, please’. Claire turned her head, stool spinning with her, as she let her eyes cast over the other employees, talking in small groups, some playing games in the sand. She spotted Zara, lazing comfortably on a lounge chair, skin coated in suncream.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Owen, I need to speak with Zara.’ Claire excused herself with a soft smile, slipping off her stool, before she kindly thanked him for the drink Masrani Global paid for.

He watched her step across the sand, her footsteps measured as she reached Zara. She engaged the woman, her assistant, in conversation briefly, before hooking her fingers around the hem of her dress. She lifted the fabric easily, pulling it up and over her head in one swift move. Owen stared, gawking, glass to his lips, his drink spilling down his chin.

Claire Dearing, stood only a few feet away, in all her glory, black bikini clinging to the curves of her body. He thought she was perfect in white dresses, corporate to the nines, this though, shit, Claire Dearing pale skin and red hair wrapped in a black swimsuit. This was something else entirely.

‘You’re drooling, man.’ Barry’s voice sounded behind him, amusement in his tone. Owen caught himself, moving his glass to the bar. It was too late, more than half of his beer had missed his mouth, and what didn’t, certainly dribbled down his chin soaking his singlet. ‘You still hung up on her, Owen?’ He asked, still amused as Barry took the seat Claire had vacated. Owen shook his head, trying to deny the infatuation that had his eyes glued to Claire. ‘Have you asked her out yet?’

Owen stood, ‘ah, no. Still working on it’. His clothes were soaked, shirt clinging to his chest, as the remaining beer, spilt down his front, threatened to seep into his shorts. He only grinned at Barry as he stepped away from the man, his friend, and toward Claire and Zara. Barry stared, if Claire Dearing didn’t like him when he smelt like dino dung, there was probably no chance in hell she was going to like the smell of Owen Grady soaked in Cerveza Imperial.

‘You, ah, you said you swam? Owen asked, catching Claire’s attention, as she squinted up at him. She nodded. Owen was averting his eyes, trying to keep them on her face, and not racing up and down her long, bare, legs. It was juvenile and ridiculous, the plan formulating in his head on the spur of the moment. ’Wanna see who can make it out to the bouy and back?’

Claire looked at Zara fleetingly before she responded to Owen, a smug grin pulling at her lips. ‘What do I win?’ No ifs. She was confident she would win.

‘I’ll do my paper work on time,’ he grinned.

‘You can do better than that, Owen.’

‘A date? Or, well,’ his hand was on the back of his neck, the sun beating down on his already red cheek. ‘the option to say yes or no to a date.’

‘With you?’ Her eyes narrowed, smile widening.

Owen shrugged, ‘yeah, me.’ He smiled shyly, uncertain if she would agree or not, worried that he’d just ruined everything.

‘Alright.’ Claire agreed, shaking his hand on a childish deal. They moved toward’s the water’s edge, still a few feet away. Claire turned to Owen, concern knotting her eyebrows together, ‘is that Barry? Is he hurt?’ she asked, pointing beyond Owen’s shoulder. His head snapped, eyes following her finger, half expecting Barry to be badly injured.

Claire raced past his shoulder, a squeal of laughter flowing past her shoulder as she looked over, making sure Owen knew she had tricked him. ‘Oi,’ he called out after her, breaking into a sprint as Claire reached the water.

In the end, they both won. Claire claimed victory and Owen got his promise of a date.


	9. #9 - The Way You Look Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Owen and Claire's first dance as husband and wife. (Which I steered from a little - still their wedding day, just not first dance).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was partially inspired by Hozier's song 'Like Real People Do' and Meghan Trainor's 'Like I'm Gonna Lose You' - Sabrina Carpenter has done beautiful covers on youtube if you wanna go have a listen.

The music was soft and low, carrying itself under faerie lights and tree branches. Husband and wife, arms wrapped around each other, swayed with the music, off-white dress to black tux, the image of simple perfection - newlywed bliss.

Claire sighed against her husband, her hands locked over his shoulder as she let him support her weight. ‘It’s perfect, isn’t it?’ She asked voice soft, her chin propped on his shoulder. Owen hummed, his hands rubbing small circles against the fabric of her dress.

It was perfect. Spring had bloomed, promising them no rain on their wedding day. The grass was green, the flowers blossomed vibrantly, the sunset with vivacious pinks and yellows, tangerine evening farewelling them throughout the night. Faerie lights and lanterns, candles and candelabra’s lit the way as celebration moved from crisp evening to warm dusk. Delilah ran around the legs of welcome guests, sniffing hands and greeting strangers. Followed eagerly, under tables and over laps, by Owen’s niece, the flower girl.

They danced against the sunset, love and laughter filling the air, the band’s lead singer crooning the last of her setlist.

‘No one’s wearing board shorts,’ Owen teased, earning himself a jab in the neck. He chuckled, the same quasi nerdy giggle he possessed after years of pushing her buttons. ‘It’s perfect, Claire.’ He hummed, pressing a kiss to her temple as his wife - _his wife!_ \- breathed against his neck admiring the last of their party guests twirl around the floor.

Claire Dearing approached her wedding like she approached everything else - it was a business deal, every clause and commitment was highlighted and understood. Each and every detail was planned to an exact minute, particular shade, and seasonal arrangement. Owen witnessed her lose sleep over flowers, bridesmaid dresses and seating arrangements. He laughed at the time, thought she was crazy, loosing her mind over nothing, biting his head off when he offered a ‘so long as you’re there, I don’t care if the flowers are real or fake’. He stood by that, barely noticing the pastel coloured flowers in her shaking hands as she walked down the isle. All he cared about was Claire, her spitfire attitude, her self control and her ability to let go - just a little - when he was around. Her off-white dress, something she found accidentally, vintage, and unobtainable to his eye until she stood in front of him, the sun shining behind her. None of it mattered, not the blue forget-me-nots tucked into her hair, or the garter around her thigh. All that mattered was Claire, standing in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.

They deserved perfect. Nothing less. They were overdue on happy moments, well deserved, fought for with blood sweat and tears.

Her voice was a whisper against his skin, ‘as perfect as me?’ He could hear the sleep in her words, the feel of her body snuggled against his. They had the venue for another hour, he’d take her home soon, Karen promised to stay back, pick up forgotten items, and sign the final cheque.

‘Nowhere near,’ Owen answered simply, pressing another kiss to her skin. She pulled her head back to look at him, her nose scrunched up ever so slightly.

Claire giggled, her eyes shimmering like clear water on hot summer days. ’You’re so corny.’ He dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose. She was fishing for that corny compliment, baiting him to say something ridiculous and completely true. He told her as much. ‘Oh no, this isn’t going to work at all. I think we need to get this marriage annulled. I strictly said - no corny men.’ She pulled away from him, smile hoisting up the corners of her aching cheeks. They had smiled and laughed so much in that day alone, it made up for the hard times when tears fell and their chests ached. His own cheeks were aching, pulling behind his teeth in a persistent thrum. Neither adult could stop.

He pulled her back to him, hand around her wrist, tugging gently as his new wife laughed, crashing back into his chest easily. He buried his face in her red hair, inhaling the scent of flowers and the musk of her perfume. Owen was careful not to ruin the delicate placement of braids and flowers entwined across her head as he held her close. He knew of the effort that was put into it, the planning and precision. He would not be the man to ruin something as slight as her hair. Not, at least, until they got home.

He kissed her a last time, before twirling his wife around the dance floor, watching as her dress swayed around her ankles. ‘You’re not supposed to be looking at my feet,’ Claire reprimanded. The important dance was done, symbolism brushed aside. He was too busy hiding memories in the curves of her dress, on the silk of the ribbon and in the hallows of the lace.

Owen watched her twirl his niece, Olivia, around the room, their skirts flying, swimming around their shoes. The toddler shrieked with laughter, four years old an enamoured with the idea of her uncle’s wedding day. There was a slight smudge, smaller than his pinkie on the back of Claire’s shoulder, a tell tale sign of little girls and chocolate cake. He hid the memory there, Olivia and her Aunt Claire, joy painted across their faces.

Claire was exhausted, he could see sleep hiding behind her eyes, begging for her lashes to flutter closed. She muttered something about ‘get Livvy another bracelet’, the sentence barely put together, and yet she matched him step for step in their lazy waltz.

‘I think it’s time to take you home,’ Owen chuckled, watching as Claire blinked slowly, her eyes struggling to stay open. She shook her head, fighting against his opinion weakly, her weight resting against his chest.

‘I want to stay here forever.’ Claire told him, head turned up to look him in the eye. The Faerie lights above their heads setting her face in a soft yellow glow.

Owen smiled, the expression creeping across his face, slowly extending itself halfway up his cheeks. ‘That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Promising forever?’ Claire nodded slowly, exhaustion winning out as she pecked a small kiss to his lips and asked him to take her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I too have to apologise for not posting a prompt a day. Life suddenly sped up and I'm drowning in it. I should be fine by mid-end of next week.  
> There is also a prompt I want to make kind of lengthy (at the moment, haven't started yet) so I may be silent for a few days. But I'm still here. I'm still alive (barely). I still love your prompts.


	10. #10 - Embarrassing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon: Claire and Owen being super cute and embarrassing their kid(s). (May or may not include Zach and Gray in that).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away so long. 
> 
> I got my current assignments done, and sat through 30 minutes of people I hardly know telling me face to face what they thought of my short story. and then, unfortunately, I got really sick. I AM still sick, but feeling a bit better. 
> 
> Hopefully I should get back onto schedule. 
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient. I really appreciate you guys so much. I've been trying to get everything organised so I could come back to the clawen trash heap. :) x

The simultaneous shriek of disgusted children chorused in the ears of preoccupied parents. Grins split across all faces alike, chirping children laughing hysterically, begging for it to stop.

Owen pecked a second kiss to his wife’s lips, a softer kiss, one of promise. A kiss for after Christmas Eve night, when the children were tucked up in bed, sugarplums dancing in their heads.

Karen appeared, hands on children’s shoulders, ushering them away with words of Christmas presents and tin soldiers. They scurried away on light feet, the eldest, with a scrunched up nose, groaned - his eyes, _his eyes!_

With the children out of the room, their gleeful embarrassment echoing down the halls, Owen kissed Claire, and begged she call him Santa Claus.

*

She cried on his first day of school, small boy, big pack. Owen grinned, from ear to ear, proud of their little champ. Claire gripped Noah’s tiny hand, walking her son to his teacher’s stand.

Unfazed was Noah, strong as could be, heart on his sleeve and lunch packed. That was all he needed, Claire realised. Like father, like son. Hearty lunch and genuine care. Open, honest, kind. Noah would thrive.

She pulled the boy into her arms, crushing him against her chest, tickling kisses across his face. Noah squirmed immediately; ‘Mom you’re embarrassing me’. Claire pecked his cheek one last time, her thumb rubbing at a lipstick stain. She smiled, eyes watery, her baby already too big before her eyes.

Claire cried a little after that, watching him from the parent gate, Owen’s arm tucked around her waist. At least, when they returned home, Violet was selflessly unashamed, basking in her mother’s gently kisses in her happy little girl way.

*

Violet was 10, Noah 13 when they asked to be dropped off around the block. ‘We prefer walking up to the gate,’ they excused, lying as to not accuse.

Claire had a different routine when she dropped them off, front entrance, driving circle. Not a single, round the block stop off.

It was his truck, they confessed, and the music, ‘ _and the way you dress!_ ’ It was innocent enough, still cutting through his heart.

They loved him on parent days - the only dad to bring a baby tiger to school. His zoo khaki and beat up truck, his old rock music, it was just a little ‘ _too much_ ’. They sent them to private school - top tier education, better than the rest. Owen, simply, didn’t fit in. He wasn’t state of the art, shiny metal, brand new car. He wasn’t Claire, tight skirts, death glare, essential business rockstar.

He smiled through it, brushing off their apologies.

*

Noah’s senior prom needed chaperones.

That’s how they ended up there, watching their tall, blond son, skirt around the edges of his school gym, innocuously avoiding them.

Owen chuckled, Claire spied, watching Noah and his date collide. They were exploding stars and galaxies, the milky way of teenage romance, nervous energy full of brand new beginnings.

Noah’s anger towards them for volunteering dissipated as the music played and the night grew longer. He learnt to forget they were there, dissolving himself into his classmates in masquerade and Jennifer - his beautiful date.

That was, until, someone spiked the punch bowl.

Claire was the one who ended up a little more than tipsy. Owen was too amused to care.

Hanging off her husband’s arm, Claire giggled obnoxiously, hands straying - not only in front of teenagers, but teenagers who knew them as Noah Dearing’s mom and dad. When Noah witnessed his father fend off Claire’s dexterous hands for the third time, the boy stalked over, feet practically stomping across the gym floor.

‘Can you two cut it out?’ He hissed, eyes seething as he stared them down, cheeks pink. ‘You’re embarrassing me just by being here. This - this is satan’s throne on the scale of embarrassment.’ Owen nodded, his hand falling over Claire’s giggling mouth. He apologised genuinely, promising to speak to Coach Thomas, alerting her of their departure.

Noah nodded, a solitary movement of his head, before he returned to his date and senior prom.


	11. #11 - Murmuring Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Clawen as a divorced couple with a daughter named Charlotte (Charlie) and Charlie doesn't approve of the man her mom is dating so she makes a plan to get her parents back together.

Strewn across the couch, Charlie Grady pressed her face into a book. Partially, she listened to her mother clack around the house, heels clicking against the floorboards as she got ready for her night out. ‘Charlie,’ Claire called, beckoning her daughter up the stairs. 

The teen followed her mother’s voice, finding her in the master suite, earrings in her hands, dress on but not zipped. Claire smiled at her daughter, lips pursed together warmly. ’Can you zip me up?’ She asked. Charlie nodded softly, stepping forward to zip the back of her mother’s black dress. ‘I have to ask you something,’ Claire started, turning once her dress was fastened. Her daughter took a step back, her face guarded, arms crossed over her chest. Charlie hummed. Claire sat on the nearest surface, causing the worry in Charlie’s eyes to flare. ‘How do you feel about moving in with Douglas?’ 

‘What?!’ Charlie snapped, jaw dropping open. Douglas, although sweet, was put on the planet purely to irritate Charlie, and Charlie alone. Her mother’s boyfriend of almost two years, a British CEO to a multi million dollar conglomerate, had slowly been integrating himself into their lives. ‘Mom, no. He lives in New York! And that’s when he’s in this country at all. What about school? What about my specialists? What about Dad?’ 

‘This doesn’t concern your father.’

‘But it concerns me, you’re asking me if I’m okay with it. Which, I’m not, by the way!’ Charlie backed towards the door, frightened animal not taking her eyes off her mother. There were times where her daughter reminded Claire of Owen’s raptors from so long ago. Maybe it was the way he’d interacted with her as a toddler, or something that was simply Charlotte. The connection, still, was too real to be ignored. 

Claire sighed heavily, her shoulder’s hunching, her hands falling in her lap. ‘We’ve been divorced ten years, honey, we’ve got to think about the future, yours, mine … ours.’ 

‘And he can’t be involved in that?’

‘Not with me, he can’t. We’re done, Charlie, there’s no going back.’ 

‘Good to know,’ the teen huffed, turning on her heel and disappearing out the door. Claire heard her feet stomp down the hallway and her bedroom door slam open, before her feet retraced their steps until they hit the stairs. 

‘Where are you going?’

‘To Dad’s!’ She shouted back up the stairs, voice angry, feet skipping every second step. 

‘It’s not his weekend,’ Claire shouted. He had every second weekend with Charlie, and the last half of her school breaks. That was the deal. But, unfortunately for Claire, Owen only lived fifteen minutes away. Close enough for their fifteen year old to jump between houses whenever she so felt like it. More often than not, Charlie was with Owen. 

‘I don’t care!’ Charlie chorused, her voice singing sarcastically, feet still smacking against the floor. Claire didn’t try to stop her, not really, it was Friday night, she had a date with Douglas, she couldn’t force Charlie to stay at home by herself when her father was only just down the road. 

*

Charlie’s bike clattered against the pavement, metal skidding slightly under her father’s car, as she fled from it. She crashed through the door, letting it slam shut behind her, alerting the man in the kitchen to her entrance.

‘Hey, Nugget,’ Owen grinned, wiping his hands with a dishcloth. Charlie flew to him, her arms wrapping around her father’s waist and clinging on tightly. ‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was concerned immediately, hands on his daughter’s shoulders. Charlie shook her head against his chest. The idea of her mother picking up their lives and moving them to another state was still frozen in her veins, caught just on the tip of her tongue. She could barely wrap her mind around it, let alone voice it. Of course they would be the ones to uproot themselves, Douglas had a big, important job, he couldn’t do that from Minnesota all year round. 

Charlie stepped back, wiping tears from her cheeks as she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I, ah, ordered Thai on my way over here.’ 

‘Ah, Charlie,’ Owen pulled her back into a hug, ‘a girl after my own heart’. 

‘And, the only one, right? Not including Mom, that is.’ She finished slyly, checking in on her father’s social life. Charlie spent enough time with him to know he wasn’t seeing on on a permanent basis, but that didn’t mean - to her - that there wasn’t someone.

‘Does this have something to do with your Mom?’ Owen asked, eyes locked onto the blue-green of his daughter’s. 

She uttered the single name that made his stomach roll, ’Douglas’. 

Charlie’s eyes fluttered towards the ground, even without looking at her father she knew he had drawn his shoulders back, prepared to storm out of the house and give Douglas was he deserved. ‘Did he hurt her? You?’ Charlie shook her head quickly, throwing a towel on the fire of her father’s anguish. 

‘Mom wants to move in with him,’ 

‘Oh,’ Owen couldn’t avoid the dejected sound, as something cold slid right through his heart. Charlie hummed, turning her back on her father to flop down on the couch. ‘Doesn’t he live in London?’ Charlie nodded. 

‘He has an apartment in New York too - spends a lot of his time there. When he’s not wining and dining Mom.’ 

‘They’re on a date tonight?’ He tried so hard not to pry - honestly - he did so well most of the time. Staying away from Claire’s life like she stayed away from his. It was easy at first, when they divorced, he reenlisted, went back to the navy, spent sometime back on the water before coming home. He had hopped to patch things up with her, but, there was no remorse, only little Charlie patiently eager for her daddy. 

His daughter wasn’t a gofer between them. She said what she wanted when she felt she should say it. He never asked for information, occasionally Claire’s life became topic, most of it from Charlie’s frustrated teen lips. 

She hummed, responding to her father’s question, before slipping to the floor and shuffling through his DVD cabinet. ‘Indiana Jones, or something on Netflix?’ She asked, changing the topic when she saw fit. 

Owen perched himself on the couch’s armrest, watching over his daughter’s shoulder lightly, as she bounced a DVD case in her hand, and fiddled with the PlayStation remote. ‘Charlie,’ he sighed, ‘I’m not telling you what to do here, okay. But, just know you don’t have to go with your Mom if you don’t want too.’ He needed her to know that, the option was there, she could stay with him. Claire wouldn’t like it, but she would allow it. 

Charlie shook her head, ‘I don’t want to have to choose between the two of you. You’ve been apart all these years and not once - not ever - have you made me choose.’ Her bottom lip wobbled, he watched her jaw shift. ‘I don’t want to choose.’ The wail that broke the end of her sentence was still unexpected, regardless of her tells. Owen dropped to the floor, his knees cracking as he pulled the young girl into his lap. He soothed her like she was a small child all over again, like they were back in the days were both her mother and father would rush to her room during a nightmare.

He cradled the girl in his arms, rocking them softly as he promised she wouldn’t have to pick between the two. That her mother, if necessary could be talked down from the ledge - it could be resolved. ‘Please, Charlie, don’t get too worked up.’ He watched her breathing, measured the length and depth. It had been years since they’d had an incident, but it didn’t stop him from keeping an eye on her. ‘You alright?’ He asked simply, dropping a kiss to the top of her head as Charlie nodded slowly against his chest.

‘I don’t understand why the two of you just don’t try to make it work again.’ Charlie sniffled, her bottom lip pouting. 

‘It’s not that easy, Charlie, you don’t remember the way we used to fight.’ 

She grumbled against his shirt softly, ‘I don’t remember the last time I saw the two of you in a room together.’ 

*

They settled into their night easily, father and daughter, Thai food in their laps, Harrison Ford on their screen. Charlie didn’t voice anything else about her mother, instead she prattled on about the baseball game she had that weekend, or running an audio commentary through the movie. She quietened halfway through, her words softer, less frequent. Owen thought nothing of it, watching as the sun set around them, knowing the girl was tired. 

The second movie was only minutes in, Short Stack making his appearance when Charlie sat forward, her head hanging between her shoulders, one hand on her chest. Owen turned to her slowly, curiosity watching her, as her rubs shuddered. 

‘Charlie,’ her name was a precaution on his lips before he jolted forward, hand on her shoulder. He turned her head in the light, flinching at the sight of pale skin fading to grey, lips already turning blue. Last time she warned them, her tiny voice calling out - ‘I can’t breathe’ - this time she’d kept herself quiet for too long. Swearing under his breath Owen encouraged her to stay calm as his heart hammered in chest faster and harder than his daughter’s was currently capable of. 

He panicked, rushing her towards the car, it’d been so long since he had seen her skin turn that colour, hear her lungs wheeze as her heart shut down. The ritual in and out of hospital visits and checkups that ran alongside the birth of their brand new daughter faded away from his mind. He couldn’t remember who to ask for when they got to the E.R. or what needed to be done. The only thing that flashed furiously was to get here there safely and in time. 

Charlotte clutched his hand in the car weakly, the tips of her still too small fingers wrapped around two of his. She never once stopped holding his hand like that. Had done since she was born, tiny creature in a humidicrib, his fingers poking through plastic covered holes. It scared him now, to see her almost as fragile fifteen years later, as she had been in the first week of her life. 

‘We can do this, Charlie, you’ll be alright.’ He was muttering to himself, the car careening down the road. They picked this neighbourhood for a reason, the streets were quiet, the neighbours friendly, most of all it was the closest they could get to Charlotte’s specialists without living in the medical district, and still being in the zone for the state’s best private school. 

He had no idea if his words were true. The word ‘transplant’ kept floating around in his head, threatening his calm resolve. She never needed one, they’d been close to putting her on the waitlist anyway. He wasn’t there last time this happened, she was only seven-years-old, he’d reenlisted in the Navy. Claire was left to deal with it alone, Owen madly trying to bully his way back home. 

*

She could feel him rubbing soothing circles across the palm of her hand, wandering to the tips of her fingers and back again. She knew who it was, felt the familiar calluses of his hand, the sandalwood of his cologne, the special scent that stuck with Dad.

Charlie moved the hand he wasn’t holding, her eyes closed, and dropped it to her chest. With a mild panic, her heart beat ticking on the monitor beside her, she felt for the new scar, the warning sign, the reason why she felt like death. Only her old one sat there, no new bandages, just the familiar bump left behind by her first corrective surgery.

She felt the sigh escape her chest, breathing suddenly a little easier than she remembered it being. ‘Daddy?’ her voice croaked out, some letters missing. His hand squeezed hers, his voice whispering that he was right there, she was all right. 

Charlie’s eyes fluttered open, landing on her father immediately, the man sitting on her left, holding onto her hand tightly. She tried a smile for him, the corners of her mouth twitching as she assessed the damage on his face. There were two new lines in his forehead, creases her ailing heart couldn’t erase. 

‘How’re you feeling, Nugget? A little more human?’ 

Charlie groaned, the vibration light in her throat. ‘What’s human? I feel like death.’ The right side of the room shifted, shuffling of fabric interesting enough that Charlie turned her head. The sight of her mother’s bright red hair made Charlie do a slow double take. ‘Am I dreaming?’ She asked slightly sarcastic, her eyes swimming in the sight of both her mother and father, Claire Dearing moving to stand beside Owen, her hand on his shoulder. The first time they’d been in a room together for longer than Charlie could manage to remember. 

Claire stepped forward, her hand reaching out to brush blonde hair from Charlie’s forehead. Her hand shook slightly, as she rested it on her daughter’s face, cupping her cheek fondly. She was still wearing the black dress from her date, despite the fact that the light in the room was definitely real and not artificial. Her make-up clung to patches on her face, light watermarks of streaked mascara shadowed across her cheeks. She’d spent all night there. Charlie was supposed to lead her life in such a way that was supposed to prevent this from happening - the heartache in her mother’s eyes, the fear etched across her father’s face. 

‘You know, maybe I am dead, this wouldn’t happen otherwise’. 

Her mother snapped, Claire taking a step back, her eyes steeling. ‘Charlotte May Grady, don’t you dare turn this into a joke!’ Charlie flinched, rarely did her mother’s scolding sting. She didn’t miss the way her father’s spare hand grabbed her mother’s, holding her as tightly as he held his daughter. Claire melted against her daughter’s hospital bed, perching herself on the mattress, apologising for being curt. ‘You gave us such a scare.’

‘I can see that on your face. I would have prevented it if I realised it was going to happen. Nothing was out of the ordinary.’ 

‘Until you turned blue.’ Owen added, eyes watching her distantly. She knew her father was already in the place of ‘what if’ a grieving man sitting beside her, a man who lost his daughter thanks to her lousy heart. 

Charlie cringed, apologising profusely for something that was out of her hands. Her parents only hugged her, glad that she was alright. Promising Charlie, herself, that she was fine - her cardiologist only wanting to keep her overnight to monitor her. She’d worked herself up too much too quickly before crashing back down, her system couldn’t keep up with it. Her doctors weren’t sure if there was an underlying problem, wanting to watch her just incase she had a clogged valve or tore another hole in her patchwork heart. 

 

*

Claire refused to budge from Charlie’s room despite the clothes she’d been wearing for close to twenty-four hours, and the reassurance that her daughter was fine. Owen was the one who ducked out, pained watching Claire fidget in uncomfortable clothes. 

She was crying when he returned, head in her hands. ‘Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong?’ Owen chanced a look towards the sleeping Charlotte, making sure she was in fact asleep, her monitor’s beeping normally. 

Claire picked at the hem of her dress, eyes watching her fingers move, ‘Nothing,’ she sniffled, ‘I’m just being ridiculous’. 

Owen scoffed, dropping his over night bag to the floor. ‘Claire Dearing, ridiculous?’ I don’t think those words work in conjunction with the other.’ They did - oh how he knew they did. She was ridiculous on so many different levels. But, she wasn’t allowed to look at herself. Claire was untouchable, undefeated. ‘What did that asshole do now?’ It was the only answer, the only possibility. Douglas. 

Claire sighed, ’Why do you always assume the worst of him?’ 

‘Whenever I hear his name, it’s surrounds something I disagree with.’ 

‘And how exactly is it, that you hear his name?’ Claire smiled softly, knowing exactly where Owen got his information from. Charlie. He shrugged, smiling back. Charlotte, their very own tattletale, keeping the lines of communication going. 

‘What’s going on, Claire?’ He tried again, crouched down in front of her, eyes begging for answers. Claire watched him for a second, wondering where on Earth they went wrong. What crossroads they had parted at with such indifference that they didn’t speak for years. 

‘He didn’t want me to come,’ it was Douglas. ‘He even refused to drive me to the hospital, made me get a cab.’ Claire laughed bitterly, eyes floating back down to the hem of her dress. Owen’s voice was gentle, slightly critical when he asked why she hadn’t called him. ‘You had to be here for Charlie, in case something went wrong. You couldn’t just leave her for me. I am capable of fetching a cab, and riding in it, you know.’ Owen nodded, of course he knew. Claire stopped, hand’s rising and falling. ‘He didn’t want me to rush away from a date because my daughter was ill, despite the fact that he knew her medical history. He knew how I would feel if I wasn’t here for her.’ 

Owen let out a long sigh, his hands rising to grip her arms in a measure of comfort. ’You got here, Claire, that’s all that matters. Okay? You’re here, she’s perfectly fine. It could have been worse, and it wasn’t - thank god.’ 

Claire shook her head, ‘it’s on principle, it could have been worse. There’s always a chance that it’ll be worse.’ 

‘But, it wasn’t. The two of you will move on from it, he’ll learn.’ He had been given so many chances before, if anything Douglas would learn to adapt, shifting his life from business to family. Claire managed to keep the balance, if they were important enough to him, so would Douglas. 

‘I called him while you were gone. It’s over.’ She was slightly mournful, her fingers pulling on a loose thread.

‘You broke it off?’ 

‘He refused to let me see why potentially dying daughter.’ She defended. ‘God, Owen, you hate me half the time and yet, you’d never do that.’ 

‘I don’t hate you.’ His voice dropped, tone serious. He didn’t hate her, never would, or ever could. They had their differences, it became too much, on top of Charlotte. It was easier to separate, divorce, and allow their daughter a life without either of them fighting over her head. 

‘You did,’ she whispered, so sure of herself. 

‘Never,’ Owen shook his head, readjusting his position in front of her. He watched Claire’s face distort, skin crinkling around her eyes. He didn’t hesitate, watching the mystified look on her face, as she leant in and kissed her gently on the corner of her mouth. Claire moved, just slightly, catching his bottom lip between her teeth, and kissing him back in full. 

Neither adult noticed their daughter awake, in her hospital bed, witnessing it all. 

 

*

‘Can you stay, just for a little bit?’ Charlie pleaded, leaning effortlessly against her father’s arm. Owen had brought them both home, Charlie cleared by her cardiologist after heavy monitoring, Claire free to sleep guiltlessly in something other than a hospital chair. ‘Please?’ Charlie pulled on her father, begging like a five-year-old in a toy store. 

He looked over at Claire, the woman unlocking the front door to what used to be their home, as she gave him a small nod. He squeezed Charlie into his side, ‘I can stay’. 

‘Great! I vote Grady family spaghetti bolognese and a fierce game of scrabble.’ She squealed, jumping slightly before running off into the house. Owen called out after her, a warning to take her life easy, nothing fast paced. 

He stepped on unsteady feet through the house he used to call a home, the first time he stepped inside in years. Claire had disappeared up the stairs, Charlie banging around from one room to the next. 

Owen followed her when she appeared from the living room, boxes of board games in her arms. He chuckled, watching her carry them into the kitchen, before depositing them on the island counter. Charlie smiled triumphantly, her hand patting the boxes gently before chasing circles around the kitchen. 

‘Scrabble, Charlie?’ Owen teased, finger tapping the box as he sat at the counter. ‘God, I haven’t played that game in years - and when I did, your mother won.’ 

‘It’s half the fun,’ Charlie called, head inside a cupboard. Misjudging her exit, the girl bumped her head against the lip on the door, causing searing pain to radiate across the back of her head. She swore, falling to the floor, head cradled in her hands. 

Claire was there before Owen, despite two seconds preciously, not even being in the room. ‘What is it about these appointments that make you jittery?’ She asked, tossing half an explanation towards Owen. Charlie had a habit of getting hyped up after a meeting with her oncologist. Claire pressed a kiss to the top of Charlie’s blonde head, hugging her softly before moving to clutch her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Slow down, for an hour, please.’ Charlie stared with great big blue eyes, focus wavering as she dared to look over at her father. ‘He’s not going anywhere, relax.’ Charlie sighed, verbal confirmation of her calm. Claire pressed another kiss to her skin, happy with the outcome before standing slowly from the floor. ‘Why don’t you settle on whatever game will keep him here longer, and I’ll start on the food.’ 

‘Oh, no, no, I’ll do the food. It’s a secret Grady family recipe.’ Charlie protested, jumping up. 

Claire only chuckled, pressing a third kiss to her daughter’s head. ‘I think you forget, I was a Grady.’ The woman teased, leaving Charlie slightly dumbfound.

Owen strayed from their board game before it had even started, optioning to tease Claire from beside her instead from the other side of the counter. Charlie squeaked in protest for a second, before she noticed her mother’s soft laugh, and the gentle hand of her father on the small of her back. 

Charlie slipped from her chair, game abandoned, parents left in solitude. 

She returned after changing her clothes and washing her face, finally ridding scraps of the hospital from her skin. 

‘You knew I left the room, right? Charlie laughed, finding her parents making out rather ferociously against the kitchen counter, food bubbling on the stove beside them. ‘I’m chuffed, my plan barely started and look at you, well on the way to where you should be’. 

‘Plan?’ Claire asked, stepping away from Owen, slight flush on her cheeks. 

Owen laughed, ‘of course she had a plan. She’s got my instinct, and your persistence for keeping things organised.’ 

Charlie watched the adults in front of her with a self satisfied smirk. Sometimes things just managed to fall in her lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really bad, and I'm really sorry.


	12. #12 - Reinvented First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute, handsy, silly drunk Claire - attempt #2 (first attempt is found at prompt #5).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is set (steering off canon) during Owen and Claire's first date.

‘Oh fuck it,’ Claire grumbled, yanking her coat off her arms, dispersing it, and her handbag - minus purse - inside her car. ‘Owen?!’ She called out to him, heels clacking on the pavement. He was already ahead of her, hand on the Margaritaville door handle. 

Owen stopped, listening to her heels clack across the sidewalk as she broke into a semi sprint to catch up with him. ‘What made you change your mind?’ He asked, Claire stopping in front of him with a gentle smile. Two minutes ago she was about ready to tear off his face for even thinking tequila was a good idea. He only wanted to knock a chip off her shoulder, loosen the tight control freak that lived within her head.

Claire shrugged, her smile turning slightly flirtatious as she stepped around him to enter the small bar. Owen followed her, slightly stunned, eyes glued to the sashay of her hips. How could she have gone from lost composure to completely in control, within seconds?

She smiled at him through thick lashes, tongue tracing over her teeth tantalisingly slow. She hit the bar with three shots, sliding the empty glasses out of her way as Owen took a stool beside her. She knew her tequila, ordering drinks from the menu he never bothered to read, shots straight from the glass, salt and lime. Maybe it was because he was old fashioned, maybe it was because she was a girl. 

He stared as she called another title, another drink promising to be as fruity and cocktail-y as the last. Claire grinned over the slip of her shoulder, watching him through half lidded eyes. He lost count of the shots she’d thrown back, a tall empty glass sitting beside her wrist. How many had she had?

‘Are you going to stare at me all night?’ Her eyelashes fluttered, blue eyes unflinching as she half stared him down. Owen squirmed, shaking his head, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Of course he had been staring, mouth agape. He was staring at the woman who, not thirty minutes ago, exclaimed that she was on a diet in response to his proposition of tequila. She knocked back another shot, her cheeks flushing pink, her eyes slightly skittish. ‘It’s certainly all you’re doing,’ Claire commented, smiling politely at the barkeep who placed a new drink in front of her.

Owen shrugged, pulling his own margarita closer, swirling the glass around the top of the bar, swishing condensation. ‘I’m just confused as to why you’re still here.’ 

‘You want me to go?’ She asked, small pout forming across her painted red lips, ‘no’. Claire echoed the shake of his head, one hand reaching out to stop her from standing. No, he really, really, wanted her to stay. She played with the orange twirl in her glass, the ice clinking loudly between them before she took a sip of the burgundy liquid. When she turned her eyes back to him lazily, he realised he was still staring, drink slowly melting beside his elbow. ‘Call it: throwing caution to the wind,’ Claire leered, leaning forward on her stool, a hand reaching out to fall against his thigh. 

Owen swallowed hard, trying not to focus on her hand and where it was sitting. Her fingers increased the pressure, biting into the slick material of his board shorts before finding home within his skin. He was too busy watching a bead of sweat roll down her neck, catching against her collar bone, to realise she was leaning in, getting closer. He looked up, green eyes meeting hers just seconds before her lips caught his. 

He surrendered control at the feel of her soft lips, tongue tracing the curve of his bottom lip before begging entrance to his mouth. She tasted of cinnamon, red wine and faintly of oranges. He knew to expect the tang of tequila on her tongue, coated against her lips, the others though, they were a surprise he could only attribute her her cocktail. Owen didn’t care, kissing her back slowly, he begged for everything she gave him, the slightest ounce of power. Pulling away, his bottom lip dragging between her teeth, Claire Dearing giggled. 

Owen was startled by the sound, gentle laughter pulling from her lungs, turning her small smile wide. He tilted his head, ever so slightly, watching her like an inquisitive animal. ‘What’s so funny?’ Owen asked, trying to regain whatever parts of his composure he could hold in sweaty palms. 

Claire pulled back, slightly, hands still on him. One remained on his leg, sliding up further, as she pushed herself away. Claire’s other hand messily fondled with the buttons on his shirt. She had to give him kudos for that, at least he wasn’t wearing a tattered singlet to match the absurdity of his board shorts. She was hardly sober enough to care. ‘I’m going to hate myself in the morning,’ she whispered on another fit of giggles, her body swaying towards his. Hands pulling her in. 

She kissed him a second time, lips lingering longer, small sound escaping her throat. Owen lost control, his hands finding themselves on her waist, fingers wrapping around her hips, fingers digging into her skin, matching pressure for pressure. 

They were undisturbed in their corner of the quiet bar, unrecognised by park guests and late night drinkers. Owen had no qualms with breaking her kiss, his lips trailing across her cheek, latching to a spot behind her ear. 

‘Fuck,’ Claire hissed, head rolling back, a hand clutching at his neck, fingers threading through the hair at his nape. He traced back to her mouth, kiss searing, a hand wandering from her hip to her thigh, pulling Claire flush into his lap. She giggled again, throat raspy, breathless, as Owen dropped his head, her fingers in his hair, his kisses carrying to the scoop of her neckline. 

The barkeep cleared his throat in warning, reminding them that they were in fact, not alone. Claire jumped back, slipping from his lap, embarrassed flush sliding across her cheeks, mixing with the alcohol that had already exposed itself there. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Claire struggled to meet Owen’s eye. ‘I should go,’ she excused, searching for her purse. 

‘Claire,’ 

‘No, I really need to go’. She was fluttering, jumping between being close to him and stepping away. Like a moth to the flame, she knew he was bad for her, but also couldn’t help herself. It was Zara who put the idea in her head. She needed to get laid, bad. Owen had been the first tantalising, able man to proposition her. Inhibition was gone. She saw the raptor trainer as a challenge, someone not completely tamed, wild, willing to learn. They didn’t work closely enough for this to affect her job. 

Likely, Claire respected Owen too much to treat him the way she needed - without attachment. 

She shook her head when he said her name a second time, eyes down, feet pulling her sloppily to the door. The chill of the island, after the sun had set, the guests tucked up in bed, usually bothered her. Her skin was on fire, threatening to spontaneously combust as she escaped from Margaritaville.

‘Claire, please,’ Owen called again, the door clicking shut behind him as he joined her on Main Street. ‘Can I drive you home?’ He asked, sincerely, the pink of her cheeks unwavering. She laughed a little at the absurdity before turning him down. 

‘That won’t be necessary’.  
‘Please? I want make sure you get home safely. You downed those shots faster than - well, faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.’ Owen’s laugh was nervous, his hand on the back of his neck, fingers scratching his scalp where she had clawed him earlier. His intentions were kind, the look on his face too honest to be impure. Slowly, Claire nodded, small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. 

‘Yeah,’ she raised her shoulders, heavy sigh escaping her lips. The world was spinning slightly, both from the alcohol and his kisses on her skin. ‘Sure, you can drive me home.’ She handed him her keys with shaking hands, nodding softly at the car not a few feet from them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I have an urge to write some more 'on island' stuff (because naturally I assume most prompts are post incident) so if you have any prompts that work for that, in which you think I am slightly capable of handling. Let me know. 
> 
> I want to say too, because I haven't already. Thank you to every single one of you who has sent me in a prompt. I really mean it. I'm unhappy with what I produce most of the time, but I loooove these prompts. And, I know, I'm mostly absent, but when I get free time (which is rarely at the moment) I am taking it to work on these for you.   
> So, thank you - really - thank you, I love you all. xxx  
> Extra love to those who kudos and leave comments.


	13. #13 - 'I want to have a baby'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tells Owen she wants a baby (he never thought she wanted any, so he didn't pry) but he's thrilled when she tells him (& they've been married for a couple of years already).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one jumped out at me, so I bumped it to the front of the line - what? I have no loyalty. You should know that by now. 
> 
> I love you ALL equally and in no particular order.

Their mornings ran through routine, quietly. Depending on agenda, they mostly got ready separately, stepping around the other when they finally met in the kitchen. His and hers breakfast was prepared in tandem, toast warmed, butter spread, milk added to coffee in the right amount, sugar left for preference. 

Owen’s commute is longer than hers, he leaves before she does, granting Claire twenty extra minutes. Regardless, she’s up with him, every morning without fail. Following through with routine, only a few steps behind. She brews the coffee while he showers, cuts fruit for yoghurt - they went through a juice kick six months ago. Instead of coffee she would press fresh orange juice. Once the shower was free, on the good majority of days where she didn’t shower with him, they would swap places. Owen heating toast, or frying eggs. On occasion he’d make waffles or pancakes. 

He’d abandoned his duties that morning, forgoing making breakfast to chase circles around the house, seeking out odd objects. She knew the place of every single one, his use of them so infrequent Owen lost track. Never Claire, she had the answer for everything. She’d pointed him to the entry closet, formal shoes missing in his mind, in fact tucked away for safe keeping. 

Sponsors for the zoo were making a visit that morning, promising money to the most deserving exhibit. It was Owen’s turn to chat up rich business types in fancy suits. He didn’t do it often, but did it enough to be comfortable with the people, if not a little annoyed that he had to fight for money. 

He was slightly frantic, a little out of place that morning as he moved from room to room, half dressed, items in his hands. Owen was head deep in the hall closet when Claire spoke from the kitchen bench, peanut butter toast in hand. ‘I want a baby,’ she announced around a mouthful of food. 

Owen dropped his shoes, head bumping against the closet’s overhanging shelf. ‘Whoa, whoa - what?’ He looked up, staring at her, half mystified, hand rubbing at the back of his head, trying to soothe the ache. Claire smiled softly, hiding behind her mug of coffee, as she too a long sip, working up the courage. 

‘I want to have a baby.’ 

‘You do?’ The smile slip across his face slowly, growing larger with each passing second as his green eyes grew wide. He stepped into the kitchen on autopilot, moving to stand beside her without thinking. Claire nodded slowly, shy. ‘Really?’ She nodded again. It had always gone unspoken, Claire’s career went first, before everything else - even Owen fell second rank after her job in most situations. But, he was a grown man, who had leopards and tigers to train, he knew how easily a career could get in the way. 

Owen’s eyes caught sight of the time, ticking precariously on Claire’s watch. He was going to be late for his meeting. Chances were the sponsors, along with other investors, were going to throw their money towards the Orangutangs again. ‘You have the worst timing,’ Owen laughed. He could feel his cheeks starting to ache, the smile on his face so strong. 

Claire shook her head, swallowing her last mouthful of coffee. ‘No, the timing is perfect. Everything is where it’s supposed to be, our jobs, our marriage. I’m ready for a baby, don’t you think we’re ready?’ He didn’t think it was possible for the smile on his face to grow any larger. 

‘Of course we’re ready!’ He pulled her in, hand on her waist. They’d been ready for three years, ready since before they got married. But he knew, without her ever saying it, that Claire - alone - wasn’t ready to step into the tundra that was child rearing. She loved her nephews, but they were teenagers, children who were capable of explaining their problems, and asking for help. Babies though, they were a crying mess of wet diapers, 3am feedings and interrupted sleep. Claire wasn’t prepared for the disruption to her routine. ‘I really have to go. But, Claire, this - a baby. We can do this. God, can you imagine, a little girl with red hair - did I tell you I had curly hair as a kid?’ 

Claire laughed, pecking him on the cheek. ‘I’ve seen the pictures. I think you forget it still curls if you don’t cut it, just so.’ Her hand wandered up to the fringe of his hair, wrapping a loose curl around her finger. 

‘A perfect little girl with red hair and curls - she’s going to hate us.’ Owen smiled, eyes far off in a fantasy. Claire’s hair was already slightly curly, living with it her whole life made her resent her hair. Especially in her teen years. But the image of a small girl, running around the house, chasing Delilah in circles on the grass, red curls bouncing in the sunlight - it was too perfect to deny, too precious to give up on. She also wondered about a little boy, some small reimagining of Owen, chasing his father around, prattling on about animal behaviour. 

She kissed him one last time, a gentle touching of their lips before she pushed her hand against his chest. ‘Go to your meeting, we’ll talk about this later.’ 

Owen nodded, stepping away, ‘maybe we can throw in a few practice rounds?’ He teased, tossing a wink in her direction, smile indestructible on his face.


	14. #14 - Mr Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon: so this may be a silly prompt, but I just saw a post with a picture of a man holding his baby in a little sling and I was wondering if you could do a little prompt with Claire finding out that Owen was using a sling to carry their adorable little redheaded baby girl everywhere when she isn’t around, and being both amused and heart eyes and melting heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's supposed to go prompt, life as we know it chapter, prompt and so on, but the next chapter is taking me a million years and I had this prompt done fairly quickly. So, surprise! I can't stick to a plan!

He was used to having her close. Doctors thought, when she was born, that kangaroo care was the best way to try to stabilise Charlotte’s slightly erratic heart murmur. They tucked her into his shirt, when Claire was sleeping, his skin flush with hers, body temperature regulating.

It was only natural, once they got her home, their routine readjusted to Charlotte’s existence, that he continued to keep her close. Claire went back to work earlier than expected, her skin crawling with need. Owen didn’t hold her back, she was ready, he let her go. Instead, he was the one who took paternity leave, spending his days with Charlotte.

He stopped a woman in the supermarket one afternoon, her infant several months older than Charlotte, strapped to her chest. Owen had been struggling with the capsule that snapped into a base in the car, an easily transformed carseat. It was heavy, uncomfortable to carry and bulky when he only needed to get a few things from the store. She smiled at him politely, answering her question with gusto as she peeped in at sleeping Charlotte.

She was considerate, caring, friendly and resourceful, taking pity on the dad venturing the world alone with his tiny young. She directed him to the Moby Wrap. Explaining, on a gentle smile and soft voice, how it connected her to _little Jessie_.

Owen invested in one as soon as he could. Spending his days, in and out of the house, seventeen-week-old Charlotte secured to his chest. Claire worked throughout the day, Owen stayed at home, timing naps and keeping feedings on schedule. He was happy for the time, willingly sacrificed his job to watch over Charlotte, his anxiety towards her existence only heightened since she was no longer secure within her mother’s body. He just wanted her safe, healthy, loved and warm.

He didn’t hear Claire come in, her heels clacking against the floorboards, until she took them off, sneaking around on bare feet. ‘Nice wrap,’ Claire laughed, leaning against the kitchen door jamb. Owen jumped, his body jolting, one hand flying to Charlotte’s head, protecting the girl at all costs.

‘Shit, Claire,’ Owen breathed, heart rate still scoring a little above normal. She approached him quietly, apologetic smile on her face. A hand joined his behind Charlotte’s head, against his sternum, the girl tucked in tight.

Claire cooed at her daughter, blue eyes opening to stare back at her. ’Look at this, she’s so snug.’ She caressed her daughter’s pink cheeks, marvelling at Owen’s connection with her. ‘She’s going to have the worst attachment issues,’ Claire joked, hand petting the soft tuff of red hair on Charlotte’s little head. She already knew Owen toted her around as close to him as he possibly could. She had no idea about the Moby Wrap, her husband wearing their daughter.

Owen shrugged, ‘I don’t care.’ She was comfortable, content and close - the three Cs. So long as he managed to tick those three things off the list, constantly, Owen was happy, Charlotte was happy and Claire honestly didn’t mind.

‘You’re good with her,’ she whispered, eyes flicking up to his face, watching him watch her, bodies too close.

‘That’d be why you trust me with her alone, or is the hired help just hiding from me. Spying first, before they intervene.’ Claire nodded, telling Owen he was completely right, laughter in her words.  
He was just naturally good with her, from the second she was born. Claire would argue, from the minute they found out she was pregnant - Owen was just a natural. It had taken her a few goes, fumbling hands and unsure actions, not knowing what was best and what was wrong. She called Karen a few times in Charlotte’s first two weeks. Crying to her sister in the dead of night that she had done something wrong, too scared to wake Owen, in fear that he would think less of her. Owen always knew what to do, how to calm her, when to fed her and when to change her diaper. He knew, two minutes and running, what cries meant what, without reference, without hesitation. She had envied him a little for that. _‘I raised Raptors, what’s a baby in relation to that?’_ He was so confident, so self assured. She still didn’t understand it.

She plucked at the material crisscrossed around his back and front, Charlotte tucked in with it. ’How’d you even learn to do this? I’m impressed.’ Owen shrugged again, muttering about the internet, too ashamed to admit he approached someone in the supermarket. He pulled at the fabric that held his daughter comfortably, one hand on her back as he slipped her out of the three panels and handed her to Claire. The woman was itching to hold her daughter, fingers fluttering over the girl’s back before Owen removed her from the Moby.

Claire cradled the girl, pressing a kiss to her forehead as Charlotte mewled, her little limbs extending in a slight stretch. ‘Look at your daddy, little love, he’s so clever.’ She cooed, bouncing Charlotte. ‘You’re so clever,’ Claire reiterated, her eyes on Owen. He shrugged again, untying the Moby Wrap and pulling it off his body.

‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’ He pecked her cheek playfully. ‘I’m a regular Mr Mom, it’s a total turn on.’ Owen grinned, he was proud of the self professed title, of being the only male in Claire’s mothers group who made a frequent appearance, and knowing he could actively be involved in Charlotte’s infancy with pure confidence. ‘You’re home early.’ He commented, moving to the fridge and pulling the door open.

‘We had a meeting with the higher ups, it finished earlier than expected.’ She was smiling at Charlotte as she spoke, one hand caressing her head of fiery baby hair. ‘No one was going to miss me for the rest of the afternoon.’ She accepted the bottle of water her husband handed her.

Tossing a look at his watch, Owen smiled. ’Just in time to feed her, too. Want a sandwich?’ He asked, pulling bread from the cupboard, intent on making his own lunch. Claire nodded softly, dropping another kiss to the top of Charlotte’s head, the little girl starting to fuss in her arms. ‘Right on it, Honey.’ He clicked his tongue, turning to the fridge for extra ingredients, a hand, slowly nudging her out of the kitchen, attuned to the girl’s fussy cries; begging for someone to feed her.

‘I love you, you know.’ Claire announced, lingering in the doorway. Owen nodded his head, repeating her words. ‘We’re going to the store later, just so I can see you in the wrap again.’ She teased, watching Owen’s cheeks flush.

She should have known he would have found another way to keep Charlotte close. He was a fierce papa bear, his protective instinct in overdrive since Charlotte was born. Nothing bad would happen to her, so long as she had her father, so long as he could keep her close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to let you guys know, for anyone whose submitting prompts to my inbox on Tumblr. I am trying to post them all with a response. So, if you're not too sure if I've gotten your prompt or not (in the last week or so) check poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/tagged/despite-the-odds and I should have posted your ask there. Give me 24 hours to respond - I live in Narnia, time is skewed - and if I haven't posted it feel free to send me a message checking if I've gotten it or not. 
> 
> Lucy


	15. #15 - For Those Who Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon: Claire not being able to get pregnant (hard for her to take in), so her and Owen decide to adopt a baby boy, couple years later Claire finds out she is pregnant. She doesn’t believe it can be true because doctors said she couldn’t conceive, but they do some tests and she is indeed pregnant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is crazzyyy long - maybe the longest one yet? Honestly it could be it's own fic ... if I focused on telling the story rather than keeping it under 5,000 words.

She was so sick of trying. Of waiting months for nothing but her period. She was sick of hormone shots and tracking her ovulation. She was sick of watching their savings go down the drain. At that rate they wouldn’t be able to afford a baby, once they finally got one. She was sick to death of turning her marriage into a machine only there to create a life, while it destroyed two in the process. She was sick of the tears, the emotion, the hope and excitement. She was sick of being high and then so suddenly low. She was sick of lingering, with Owen, in the windows of nursery shops, wondering if only one day.

She was bellowing huge hiccoughing sobs, cross legged in the middle of their large bed when Owen finally came home. Most days his shifts were longer than hers. They both put in overtime on occasion. ‘I can’t,’ she hiccoughed, a sob caught in her chest, swallowing her words. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Claire stared at Owen with wide blue eyes, ruined mascara creating black circles around her turquoise orbs, colour altered drastically by the vibrancy of her red cheeks. Owen dropped himself to the bed beside her, unsure if he could touch her or not. They’d been trying IVF for a year, naturally for six months before that, before they realised they were getting nowhere fast. Claire was merely a ghost of herself, hollow, empty, working towards something with all her energy and getting no results.

‘It’s all right, we’ll get there.’ He tried to comfort, catching the negative pregnancy test sitting on the bed beside his wife’s hip.

Claire shook her head. ‘Dr Stephen’s,’ she hiccoughed, hand on her chest, ‘he said my chances were slim. He said that we had to know when the cause was lost. It’s lost, Owen. We’re destroying ourselves, this isn’t healthy. The shit we’re going though - it’s not just going to magically fix itself as soon as I get pregnant.’ She sniffled, limbs curled into her chest, tears falling silently down her cheeks. He wondered when exactly it was that she broke. Snapping clean in two. When did the world stop spinning for her, for them, when had they cheated cruelty enough to be hit so hard.

Owen pulled her into his arms, wrapping himself around her tightly. This wasn’t supposed to be how they lived. So hell bent on creating life, they lost control. ‘How about we give this a break? No more IVF treatment, or the inside of an OB/GYN. Just you and me, movies on the couch, our jobs during the day. We don’t need a kid. We’ll get a dog, or a cat - some fish maybe?’ He was throwing suggestions into the air, hoping she’d latch onto something.

Claire nodded her head softly, her quiet voice agreeing to time away from trying to conceive. They needed to breathe.

*

Life proposed a new perspective. Flowers bloomed, the sun shone, their skin hummed with warmth. She had a plan for everything. It was rare that things didn’t go according to Claire Dearing’s plan, but when it failed, paper crumbling in her hand. Claire fell.

He picked her up, dusted her off. The frantic look in her eye dissipated, taking a backseat before she lost control a second time. But this, Claire’s desire to start their family. It shook her hard when it failed to happen. She put on a smile, soldiered on, despite the fact that she was bleeding, knife wedged between her ribs. He saw it in her eyes some days, the calculating stare that glared at the empty spaces of their home, imagining the children that should be playing there.

Their home was haunted with nonexistent children, the halls full of phantom toys, the nights full of cries calling out to mother and father.

‘We have other options,’ he spoke up, movie playing quietly in front of them, Claire curled into his side, tears drying on her cheeks. ‘If you still really want this,’ two years - they’d been trying for a baby for two years. With and without medical assistance. And still, they were left with nothing but silver scars on their marriage licence and a period where they didn’t speak for two weeks. They were going to start again. They were going to try again. Claire’s doctor had let them down so softly, Owen was half questioning if she’d said it or not. Infertile. They’d both been tested, at the start of the year, all results came back normal. Now, now her doctor wasn’t so sure.

‘You heard what she said,’ Claire’s voice wobbled.

‘Not what I meant. There are children already on this planet who are just as deserving of love whether they’re biologically ours or not. And sure, it’s a shitful process, but Honey, it’s not as though we haven’t already been waiting for this. The satisfaction of being able to hold that child - it’s going to be worth it.’ He hesitated, breath held in his lungs, trap door below his feet quaking with uncertainty. She was either going to swallow the idea, perhaps even kiss him for his ingenuity or she would cry, pulling herself away from him, cursing the world all in her head, begging not to be touched, to be heard, or remotely acknowledged.

‘I really don’t want to talk about it.’ She pulled away from him, tucking on the throw blanket that lay across the back of the couch. She tucked it around herself, eyes glued distantly to the television set. Owen didn’t want her to sit in a funk, but he didn’t know what else to do. He thought hope was lost, until she snuck a hand out from under her blanket and wrapped it around his fingers. ‘It would be nice, though.’

*

They thought the adoption process would be easier than their rounds with IVF. In some ways it was, in others it wasn’t. The wait was killing them the most. They’d filled out the paperwork, sat through the seminar’s, the meetings, the personal inquiries, the training sessions. They passed through each flaming hoop, colours passing them by.

It had been five months since their case worker, Janet, smiled at them softly, her folder closing against their kitchen bench words tumbling from her mouth. ‘Now they just have to match you.’ Her teeth where slightly yellow, straight, not a single crook, as she smiled through perfectly applied lipstick. Claire squeezed his hand before they got up to walk her out.

Five months.

The guest room had been transformed. The neutral colours on the walls, painted by Owen two-and-a-half years ago, when they first started trying for a baby. Excitement racing ahead of him. They left the king single bed - there for Zach or Gray when they boys used to visit - as it was, the linen changed to light blue shade, a discount children’s quilt thrown on top. A crib took residence in the far corner, the desk of drawers cleaned out, the cupboard space emptied. Their whole home lay in wait, floorboards ceased creaking, the walls held their breath.

With each day that turned into a week, into another month, Owen watched Claire’s hope fall.

‘Hengki still isn’t eating properly, it’s starting to worry me, Owen.’ Sarah commented, following Owen back to the food shed, buckets in hand. Hengki, their resident Sumatran Tiger, had been playing up for weeks, moody, disinterested. Sarah, only a junior trainer, had locked him under her belt as her favourite. Owen was convinced the tiger was asserting his own rule, rather than acting out due to illness. Sarah thought otherwise. They walked the expanse of the tiger enclosure, dirt crunching under their feet. ‘Hey, isn’t that your wife?’ Sarah pointed just ahead of them, to the tiger pergola, walkie in her hand.

Owen followed the line of her arm, catching sight of the red headed woman, waiting patiently, trembling slightly. ‘Uh, yeah,’ he responded, slightly dazed to see her there. He couldn’t pick the expression on her face, her hands fidgeting in front of her. Owen broke away from Sarah, the girl taking the bucket from his hand as he stepped towards his wife.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ He could only assume something was wrong, otherwise she would have arrived with food - and it was nowhere near his lunch hour. Claire fluttered a smile. It broke across her face, tears pooling in her eyes, as the corners of her mouth extended up to her ears.

‘They called,’ she breathed, knee buckling. ‘We have a match, Owen. They found us a baby.’ Owen stopped, two steps away from her, body completely frozen.

‘What?’ She was antsy, incapable of staying still. He looked at her as though she was an impatient toddler, too excited to watch the world pass them by. His brain still hadn’t caught up, her words made sense, but the meaning wasn’t ringing true.

‘They found us a baby!’ His ear drums popped, the world around him running at a high velocity. He couldn’t hear anything but Claire’s words. The woman in front of him stepping forward, taking his hand.

‘What?’ He asked a second time, full of disbelief. The happiness radiating from her face didn’t seem real. She hadn’t looked like that in years, he’d almost forgotten what her brightest smile contained.

Claire laughed, happy giggle ‘C’mon, they’re waiting.’ She tugged on his hand, pulling Owen out of the zoo.

*

The building was quiet despite the clicking of keyboards and whirring of printers. Someone other than Janet met them in the foyer, promising them just a moment. They managed to wait almost three years, what was a moment in comparison with that?

Claire was shaking beside him, her fingers entwined with his, cutting off the circulation. He was just as anxious, trying to keep it all in, trapping it his chest, letting it hum like bees caught in his ribs.

Janet’s appearance had Claire rocketing to her feet, her hand sill attached to her husband’s, her steps uncertain as she stepped on the spot. Tears rolled in fat lumps down Claire’s cheeks, Janet only a few steps away, small child in her arms. ‘Hey, Mom and Dad.’ Janet smiled, bouncing the infant wrapped in blue. She met Claire halfway, smiling kindly at the woman who wasn’t sure if she could touch the boy or not. ‘This is Dominic.’ Janet deposited the boy in Claire’s shaking arms, tears blurring her vision of the child. Owen was beside her, and arm around her waist, supporting her, keeping her on her feet.

She almost choked on the whisper that drifted from her lips. ’Hi, baby.’ Claire held contact with the brown eyes that blinked up at her, seemingly unaffected, yet curious, at the sudden ball of emotion holding him.

Janet spoke, as Claire cried, Owen tracing a light finger over Dominic’s cheek. ‘They’ve been calling him “Dot”, for a couple of days.’ Janet smiled fondly, explaining they had the boy over a transition period. ‘Now, I know your preference was a newborn, and Dot here is just a little over a year old - we can’t be beggars and choosers in this business.’ Owen nodded his head, agreeing completely without moving his eyes from his wife and the baby. ‘He’s healthy, happy, perfect in every way.’ They didn’t ask about his parents, about why he was alone in the world, why he was now in their arms.

‘He’s ours?’ Owen asked, voice soft. Dominic, in Claire’s capable arms reached up to grab hold of a strand of her hair. It was longer now, gone were the days of her Senior Asset Manager’s bob, now loose waves that surpassed her shoulders.

Janet smiled. ‘You’ll only be allowed to visit him for a couple of days, then you can take him home. If all goes well, the two of you can eventually apply to be his legal parents. I have no doubt that you two will do splendidly - he’s yours.’

*

‘C’mon, Mom!’ Six-year-old Dominic Dearing called from the hallway. ‘We’re gonna be late!’ He tapped his foot against the floorboards, arms crossed, back leaning against the open front door. ‘Daa-d!’ He called for his second resource, the man already out at the car.

Owen stepped forward, hand on his son’s shoulder, sympathising with the boy’s urgency. The first day of school was important after all. Claire, specifically, had been stressing the importance all summer. She’d been teary eyed the night before, after they tucked Dot into bed, and said goodnight. She had promised not to cry until he’d walked into the school gates - he knew she could make good on that. Whatever was holding her up, the clock still ticking without her. He’d lost count of the days in which she’d been ill, nauseous and dizzy. The longer it went on the more concerned Owen got, Claire only insisted that she was in complete health.

‘Go hop in the car, bud. I’ll get her.’ He ruffled Dot’s hair as he passed the boy, heading for the stairs. ‘Claire?’ He called out, ‘Honey, we’re going to be late.’ His shoes clunked against the floorboards, the sound softening once he hit carpet in the master bedroom. He thought the room empty until he heard the click of her heels on the ensuite tiles. ‘Dot’s getting antsy, we need to go.’ He popped his head into the ensuite, Claire washing her hands in the sink. ‘Everything alright?’

She nodded slowly, ‘just feeling a little off.’ She brushed her hands down the front of her clothes, collecting herself before smiling at her husband, promising him for the sixth time that week, she was fine. He took it easily, still watching her with caution but accepting her words.

The schoolyard was cluttered with over excited children, nervous energy thrumming in the air. Dot stood patently beside his parents, holding both his mother and father’s hands as he watched children run rampant on the jungle gym. ‘Can we go home now?’ Dot asked, head pulled back to stare up at his parents. Owen laughed, chuckle reverberating in his chest as he watched Claire crouch down to their son’s height.

‘You’re going to have a great day!’ She told him with a bright smile. Hands on his shoulders. He looked so small with his large school bag on his back, almost the same size as Dominic himself. All she wanted to do was hug him, hold the boy tight to her chest and never let him go. He knew the alphabet, could count to ten, and even write his name with a shaky hand. She didn’t know if she wanted to leave him in the hands of his new teacher or quit her job and home school him for the next twelve years. ‘You’re going to meet new friends and learn lots of things. Before you know it Daddy and I will be here to pick you up.’

‘But you’re crying,’ Dot frowned, little hand touching his mother’s cheek. She thought she had better control over the floodgates, clearly she had been wrong. Claire wiped at her face, swiping away her tears as she smiled wide.

‘I’m just so happy. My little boy is growing up.’ She kissed his cheek, pulling the boy in for a tight hug as his teacher stepped out of the class room and asked for her students to line up on the caterpillar. Dot squeezed her hard, before pulling away to hug his dad. Claire noticed the slight wobble in the little boy’s lip, the easy tell that he was upset, tears on the brink. He didn’t cry. Instead he waved at them both before dropping his hands to tight fists beside his hip. He joined the other too small children on the caterpillar, eyes wide, faces bright. Some were crying, some refused to line up, Claire worried that she second Dot saw emotion on the other children’s faces that he too would loose it himself. He was fine.

Miss April dismissed the parents of children whose names she’d marked off, leaving the ones with their clingy, distraught five-year-olds to stay a while longer. Claire hesitated, waving softly at Dominic until Owen grabbed her hand.

Claire was silent on the way back to the car, her body leaning against Owen’s slightly, his arm around her waist. ‘Are you alright?’ He asked, noticing she was a bit sluggish, a hand on her stomach. Whatever bug had been plaguing her for the past couple of weeks was keeping her down, her head just above the water trying to cope with it.

‘I feel sick,’ she commented softly, her voice normal, if not a little distant.

‘I really want to take you to see a doctor.’ Claire waved his comment off.

‘No, honestly, I think I’ve just been worried about Dominic starting school’.

‘You know, Dot’s gonna be fine. He thrives in a learning environment. We’ll be here at three and I bet, he won’t want to come home.’ Owen chuckled, squeezing the hand on her waist in reassurance. They hand’t coddled Dominic, although they had kept him close. He was in play groups and daycares, kindergartens and programs, the idea of spending the day away from his parents was not foreign to the five-year-old. Claire’s nervous agitation for his first day of school had bore through the boy’s easy confidence. It didn’t help either that she hadn’t been well, worrying both her boys no matter how many times she assured them on her health.

Owen knew it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped, before she crumbled, so ill she couldn’t move. They’d had bouts of the flu in the house the year before, Claire the last one to catch it. She’d been so stubborn, so insistent that she was completely well, that she almost found herself in the hospital. He knew they were facing a similar situation, she refused to do anything more than sip some ginger ale for her nausea.

He felt the moment her body started to slack against his. He reacted without thinking, hooking an arm under her knees and hoisting her up, curse on his breath.

*

Their family physician laughed softly, fond smile on her face. Claire had come to in the car, insisting Owen didn’t need to taker to the doctor, but just home. She promised to rest, to let him dote on her - which coming from Claire was a big promise. He refused to accept her terms, driving his wife to Dr Willis, ignoring her complaints.

They were sitting in Dr Willis’ office, waiting for Claire’s test results. Their doctor hadn’t said much, only that she wanted to check her suspicions before saying them out loud. Owen sat beside Claire, leg bouncing against the carpet. He was chewing on the broken off arm of a gingerbread man, something he’d bought in an attempt to get his wife to eat. She wasn’t hungry, nor was she thirsty enough, to accept the bottle of orange juice he’d bought with it.

She reached over, quietly, health magazine in her lap, to anchor a hand to her husband’s knee. ‘You’re driving me crazy,’ she half hissed, eyes not leaving the page.

Owen’s face was apologetic, green eyes wide and worried, mouth slightly turned down. ‘Are you sure you don’t want the orange juice? I saved you the gingerbread man’s head - look, he’s got M&Ms for eyes.’ He waved the treat in front of her, hoping in some way it’d entice Claire to eat it. She opened her mouth, ready with a response when Dr Willis walked back into the room.

‘Okay, you two. Now, I had my suspicions when you told me your symptoms, I ran the tests before proposing my diagnosis because I know you’d want to be as sure as possible before entertaining the idea.’ Owen gripped the hand of Claire’s that sat on his knee, already prepared for the worst. ‘I’ve booked you in with a specialist down the hall, once we’re done here, to double check a third time. But, I’m fairly confident when I say: congratulations, you’re pregnant.’ Claire was still, her eyes unflinching, the gentle tap of her heartbeat resinating through her wrist slowed for a second before speeding up.

Owen didn’t know what to do, or how to react. He could feel excitement pressing against his chest, a wonder pulling a smile across his lips. ‘That’s not funny, Sam.’ Her voice whispered, tears appearing on her cheeks. She was still as the ocean, humming but not quite making a move.

Dr Willis smiled sympathetically, before handing over the paperwork for Claire to read herself. They’d been through this enough times, one negative pregnancy test after another, jumping between Dr Willis and Dr Stephen’s - between the two of them, plus Claire and Owen they all tried to figure out why it was she couldn’t conceive. They were there through the heartache. They knew what it was like for them. And yet, she couldn’t accept the words out of Sam Willis’ lips as anything but a joke.

Dr Willis explained the results, like she had explained the tests to begin with. The smile on her face, was soft, genuine. ‘I’d say, going off what you’ve told me and your hCG levels, you’re getting close to about 12 weeks.’

Owen mentally did the math, counting out on his fingers, his hand freed from Claire’s grip. ‘Three months? She’s three months pregnant.’

Claire shook her head, ‘No. I can’t - we tried to conceive. I couldn’t.’ A lone tear escaped, slipping down her cheek.

‘I promise, Claire, I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t check the tests twice myself. The facts are right there in front of us. We have an ultrasound and a tech just down the hall - they’ll squeeze you in as soon as you’re ready.’

Owen turned to his wife, watching the shell shocked disbelief flitter across her face. He grabbed her hand, squeezing reassuringly. He hadn’t noticed the hand that hovered over her stomach, too scared to trust Dr Willis’ words. ‘What if you’re wrong? What if the sonogram doesn’t show anything?’

Dr Willis coerced the couple of of her office, leading both of them down the hall and into another room. A young technician was waiting with a wide smile, the name Stephanie printed on her shirt. Dr Willis excused herself after introductions, leaving Claire and Owen with the girl.

‘Dr Willis said you’ve just found out, congratulations!’ Her voice was sweet, still caught in easy youth, her degree still wet with ink. She applied gel to Claire’s stomach with a small warning towards the chill. Owen thanked the girl, eyes glued to his paling wife. ‘Okay,’ Stephanie said, clicking a few buttons on her keyboard with one hand, while the other moved the transducer over Claire’s abdomen. ‘Everything looks great, to me. You know, great part about finding out you’re pregnant now, instead of earlier - your baby is gonna look a lot more like a baby and less like a jellybean.’ She smiled, looking directly at Claire. ‘Are you ready to meet your baby?’

They were still in denial, Claire more than Owen, only ten minutes ago were they told she was pregnant, after close to eight years of heartache and distress. After thinking this would never happen, they were about to be face to face with the reality of deepest dreams coming true. Claire gave a stiff nod, her hand squeezing the life out of Owen’s, threatening to crush the bones.

Stephanie tapped buttons, bringing the screen beside Claire to life with a black and white grainy image. ‘Holy shit,’ Owen hissed, the image in front of him very clearly the shape of a baby. Claire wasn’t breathing beside him. ‘Holy shit,’ he repeated again, the hand not being crushed by Claire’s death grip, scrubbed over his face.

‘Do you want to hear the heartbeat?’ The tech asked, smiling at her patients. Owen turned wide eyes on her, completely overwhelmed. She’d only just shown them the small, very real baby, inside of Claire. Owen nodded blindly, his eyes falling back to the screen. Another set of clicks from Stephanie, and suddenly the room was filled with a whooshing sound. It sounded, to Owen, like distant battle drums, something from a cinematic blockbuster not the heartbeat of his unborn child.

The second noise to hit his ears was a sharp laugh followed by a soft sob. Claire’s hand scratched at his, trying desperately to wrap her fingers around his palm. Owen turned towards her, giving her his hand to hold, as he watched her face with confusion.

She was laughing, and crying, and laughing and crying. The smile on her face was genuine, the look in her eyes humorous and not scarred.

Years ago they were hellbent for this outcome, to be sitting in that room, blurry figure on the screen, heartbeat in their ears. The heartache became too much, they stopped running for that dream and set another. They got Dominic and they were happy - in love - with him. They didn’t dare wish for anything more. And yet, there it was with a steady heartbeat, very real beneath her skin. ‘We’re going to have another baby,’ Claire whispered eyes full of tears despite her glee.

‘Apparently so,’ he whispered, voice suddenly weak. He kissed the top of her hand, holding it close.

She giggled, laugh bubbling through her throat. ‘You’re crying.’ She tapped at his cheek with their clasped hands. He laughed with her, the sound of their child’s heartbeat still thrumming in the air around them.

It was simple enough to think they had it all, the two of them and Dot - but good things came to those who put in the time, the hard effort and the tears. They didn’t ask for a second chance, but in that moment they thanked their lucky stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another prompt I'm going to work Dot into, involving him finding out about the baby. If you would like to see him - or any of my other Clawen babies (Charlotte or Noah & Violet) you can always prompt me. I have a lot to work on, but I'm always happy for more.


	16. #16 - Not as Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon: Claire and Owen telling their six-year-old son that he's going to be a big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this prompt before Dominic was even a faint idea in my head. But, once I had the ‘For Those Who Wait’ prompt I knew I could tie these together. I hope you don't mind. 
> 
> Sorry that it’s short this time. I don’t know when my next update will be, as my wifi has started a revolt and I can’t afford to hotspot onto Tumblr frequently -- there is however wifi at Uni so if I have something finished by Monday or Tuesday I’ll pop it up while I'm 'studying'.

They held out for a while, trying to keep their secret to themselves. Karen knew, that was inevitable, Claire bursting at the seams with excited energy. She was compelled and worried, too, concerned this daydream would burst and she’d find herself back in the middle of their hardships, no baby, no Dominic, Owen walking out the door. 

Her clothes were starting to pinch, pink marks left behind by her work pants and skirts. Owen had no problems kissing the marks left behind on her skin, worshiping the subtle curves that housed their child. 

It was only a matter of time before Dominic started noticing. He already had, routine in their home slightly altered, behaviour changed. Nothing for the worse, but slight enough that the almost six-year-old picked up on it. 

They didn’t want to go over the top - find some flashy way to explain something rather simple to him. There were no special dinners or lunches, extra deserts to soften the blow. They didn’t have toys on hand, or sugary treats, nor the promise of more TV time. He was sitting at the kitchen bench, practicing his sight words for school, Owen on the barstool beside him. He didn’t see his mother nod her head, his father copying the action, when she stepped in the kitchen, work clothes still on - handbag in hand. Nothing was a miss. 

Claire dropped a kiss to his head, ruffling his hair softly as she asked about his day. Dot responded, as Claire leant over to kiss Owen hello, the both of them prepared to break the news. 

‘Dominic, your dad and I have something we need to talk to you about.’ Claire started, pulling a bar stool around so she could sit opposite her husband and son. The boy stared at them, expectation burning in his young brown eyes. ‘You might have noticed I’ve not been very well.’ 

‘You’re sick in the morning and sometimes after school.’ Dominic pointed out with a simple smile. Claire had been promised her morning sickness would wane off, especially once she was well and truly in her second trimester - those promises died on lying lips. She was still sick in the morning, and nauseous for most of the afternoon, something Dot never failed to notice. 

‘That’s right,’ Claire smiled, ‘There’s a reason why I’ve not been very well, and why I’ll start getting very tired.’ She was already exhausted. Four months pregnant and she could barely make it through the work day without the strong desire to take a nap. Claire wasn’t about to deny that on the days she picked Dot up from school, they both took a nap before starting his homework for the day. 

‘What is it?’ Dot asked curiously, eyes darting between his mother and father. 

Claire pulled the sonogram picture out of her purse, knowing the boy would quite understand what it was on sight. She placed the picture down in front of his inquisitive eyes. ‘You’re going to be a big brother.’

A beat passed. Dominic stared at the picture, head tilted to the left, eyes costing over the fuzzy image. Claire held her breath, Owen sat waiting on standby for the boy to react. 

‘You’re growing him?’ He asked innocently. Dot already knew a little about what bringing children into the world entailed thanks to a nature documentary on National Geographic. Claire nodded, it was enough information for now. What she knew was spinning around in his head, was accurate enough they didn’t need to correct his thoughts. ‘When can I play with him?’ He asked curiously. 

Claire laughed, ‘Oh, not until just before the Easter Bunny comes. You know, it could be a girl.’ She added, noting Dominic’s male preference in pronouns. He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, we’ll see. 

‘Can I go now?’ Dot asked patiently, Avengers pencil tapping between his fingers. His parents looked at him, startled. They were prepared to talk about this for hours, to answer questions and wipe away tears. Claire was sure they were going to be hit with a storm of ‘you don’t love me anymore’’s and variations of the like. Instead, Dominic sat calmly, seemingly happy. 

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Owen asked, peering around to get a good look at his son’s face. Dot shook his head, lips popping on a ‘nope’. ‘Are you okay with this news?’ Owen continued to pry. Dominic nodded his head, assuring his parents in a very mature way for a six-year-old that he was completely fine with it. There was no use getting excited when he had to wait until next year to play with his baby brother. He’d finished his homework and really wanted to play with his LEGOs, all afternoon, could he please be excused to do so. Owen and Claire let him go, the boy slipping off his stool and running down the hall. 

Claire turned to Owen with a huff, standing from her stool, she moved to occupy Dot’s in order to lean on her husband. ‘That was normal right?’

‘I have no idea.’ He replied, kissing the top of her head with a chuckle. Claire hummed, watching the space her son had disappeared into. 

‘Maybe I should call Karen,’ She mused, humming to herself. Karen had been there source for all things little boys since Dot was adopted. She knew the ins and outs of their brains, helping to provide her sister and brother-in-law with desperately needed information. 

He was nodding his head, letting Claire get up from her seat beside him when Dominic called down the hall, his voice begging for his father. Owen grinned, Dot was already starting to jump between ‘daddy’ and ‘dad’, finding more maturity in the later to fit in with his friends. Soon there’d be another little boy or girl, in their home, the easy patter of mischievous feet and the gentle cry of ‘dada’ before ‘daddy’ could be completely formed. 

He couldn’t wait. 

Dominic though, he was the important one who needed to adjust to the new news. His response, however, was not as they had expected.


	17. #17 - Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen has a thing for Claire leaving her heels on when they have sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason this doesn’t quite match the prompt. But, it’s also quarter to five in the AM. So, I’m just gonna drop this and run away. Sleep forever and then colour something in like the little girl I am not, but kinda wish I still was.

He was obsessed with her shoes. From the first day he met her, the clack of her heels resinating against linoleum, echoing across cold, hard metal. Black and blue, beige and pink, the colours varied, mostly solid, none of that leopard print shit. The brands changed, or at least he thought so anyway, the shape would variate, thick pumps and thin stilettos. Owen, although highly uneducated in the shoe world, always managed to recognise the blood red sole of her Louboutin’s.

He never moved beyond simple obsession, watching her approach in sleek black stilettos or matte white pumps. His eyes mostly fixated to her shoes, when his attention wasn’t glued to the fire of her hair or the intensity in her eyes.

Something shifted after the incident. Ever since he told her she wouldn’t last three seconds waltzing through the jungle in her _ridiculous_ shoes. She proved him wrong. Claire Dearing made it from start to finish, she ran, she jumped, and she fell in those beige Manolo Blahnik’s. She lived though, made it to the very end, covered in mud, soaked in sweat, clothes torn to rags. Her shoes remained in one piece, heels attached, still wrapped around her feet. As if to drive it a little further, she never complained, not a single squeak about twisted ankles.

The obsession didn’t dissipate, even with the Indominus Rex on their tracks, their lives hanging in the balance. He still managed a glance at her, strong and powerful, war torn, shoes on her feet. He almost had a heart attack just at the glimpse of her dainty little heeled foot beside his larger boot clad one on the quad bike.

Owen Grady didn’t fancy himself as the kind of man into fetishes and kinks. He liked it rough, fast and hard - that was bred into him through his time in the navy. Days and nights too far between his next conquest and his last, his sordid attempts to let off steam. But, he’d watched Claire Dearing race across Main Street, flare in her hand, T-Rex hot on her heels. She ran from that creature, luring it out towards the Indominus, with every possibility of breaking an ankle and dying in the process. She managed to keep her feet in her shoes, her bones in the socket, her feet firmly on the ground.

He managed to hold onto the last tethers of his sanity until they had a room. Just he and her, Owen and Claire, no more nephews, no more dinosaurs, no more Jurassic world - for the time being. The door clicked shut behind them, Claire sighing dramatically, half hunched over, one hand slowly pulling the heel of her foot gently from the shoe. He knew she had blisters, knew her feet were aching, possibly bleeding. She didn’t waver, willing to hold out to the very last second, even when she swayed, whimpering as she stood to step off the ferry. Owen was beside her, hand hovering behind her elbow, ready to catch her if she needed. He was too in awe to take away her pride, to swoop her up and carry her, he let her walk, never too far away.

He almost choked when he noticed what she was doing, seconds away from removing the first shoe. They were exhausted, muscles ached, their heads pounded, they smelt of the jungle and gasoline. But he snapped, no longer willing to wait. Owen stopped her, dropping to his knees in front of Claire, one hand behind her knee, the other wrapping around the wrist that was removing her shoe. She stopped, startled, tired eyes watching his face. He took her hand, letting her foot, plus shoe, lower to the ground. He kissed it, the palm of her hand, then her fingers, gentle, light kisses. She didn’t pull away.

He did, moving from her frozen hand, to her knee, peppering kisses down her leg to the top of her foot. Claire was fidgeting, her feet aching, making her shake. He changed tactics, no longer on his knees, Owen walked Claire towards the bed. He kissed her softly, lips meeting hers almost cautiously as he sat her down, knees dropping to the carpet a second time. Claire leant back on her forearms, exhaustion almost winning out against the large comfortable bed.

‘Owen,’ she sighed, ‘we’re filthy.’ He didn’t care, his hand back behind her knee, his mouth trailing kisses down her leg. He stopped at her feet, spare hand taking her foot into his palm, kissing the dirty skin her shoe didn’t cover. ‘Aren’t you going to take them off?’ She asked, after he repeated his actions on the second foot, kisses starting to trail up her legs, instead of down. She had decided on keeping him if he was going to rub her feet. Clearly, Claire had the wrong impression.

Owen grinned, pressing a measured kiss to her knee, eyes holding hers above him. ‘I’d prefer it if you left them on.’ Something flashed in his eyes, needy, a little desperate, all too cunning.

‘Owen,’ she sighed, ‘I’m not having sex with you. Not until we’ve both showered.’ She caught herself; since when had the idea of sex with Owen Grady become a reasonable option after showering? She assumed sometime between him kissing her and their sharing of a room. His free hand started pushing at the fabric of her now grey skirt, lips following the path as his hand sliding over her thigh, his right shoulder tucking under her knee. She didn’t stop him, only kept talking, ‘I’m fairly sure I smeared dinosaur shit across my chest, and you - gasoline on your skin. That, that’s really not good - oh!’ She stopped, cut off mid sentence by her own squeak, Owen’s teeth nipping on the inside of her thigh. ‘Fuck,’ she hissed, his stubble scratching her sensitive skin, _too close_ to where she suddenly wanted him.

Claire locked her leg around his shoulder, beige heel digging into his back. Owen moaned, burying his face into her thigh. He nuzzled against her skin, repeating the same little nip and suck looking to create the same hiss that had drifted from her lips.

‘Do you always swear in bed?’ He asked, voice vibrating against her skin, making Claire shift almost uncomfortably. Owen had witnessed Claire Dearing make grown men cry in less than fifteen words. Never once did she break a sweat or cut a curse. And yet, there she was skin under his lips, fowl language in her mouth.

‘Do you always have a thing for high heels?’ Claire teased back, half glaring at the man poised between her legs. Owen shook his head, pressing a feather light kiss to her centre, cotton panties already soaked.

‘Just yours - well, you, in them.’ The words were almost a purr from his lips, as the raptor trainer pulled away from her, sitting on his feet. Claire glared at him, curious for his sudden withdrawal, lazy smile still on his face. She quirked an eyebrow, asking a silently question, he seemed expectant of her to make a move. ‘You wanted to have a shower?’ He answered her with a question, smug grin pulling at his lips.

Claire sat up in a huff, pushing her skirt down as she moved, trying hard to not notice the slight stubble rash blossoming on the inside of her thighs. ‘Oh, so you’re going to start something and not finish it then?’ She asked, humorous lilt to her words. They were both too tired, too tired to argue or to flirt, let alone get themselves into a shower or have sex. It didn’t stop Claire from being annoyed, her cheeks burning slightly, surely a soft pink. Nor did it flick the switch, snuffing out the persistent throb between her legs.

Owen hummed, shrugging his shoulders at her feet, ‘it’s all in your court.’ Claire leant forward, arm wrapping around his neck, bringing them close enough for their lips to meet, tongues clashing instantly.

‘You can join me in the shower, but the heels stay here.’ She breathed against his lips, blue eyes locked with his green. She didn’t care whether she showered with him or alone, so long as she could scrub the jungle from her hair and dinosaur from her skin.

Owen smirked, ‘Can you wear them later?’ He asked, somewhat hopeful. Claire rolled her eyes, ready to bargain with him before she changed her mind, nodding her head in confirmation. In a second, he’d pulled her shoes off, allowing her feet to stand flat against the carpet. The shoes were gone for now, with the promise of a return. For now, she was just thankful they were off her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would also like to reiterate (because maybe I haven't said it) that I am kind of uncomfortable with writing smut (this has probably been the closest I have ever gotten ... and even then, my judgement is out. idek). I'll give little things a go, but don't expect a full on fuck fest from me, because it probably won't happen, and if it does, I'll be surprised. Honestly.


	18. #18 - The Cuddler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: a cuddly Claire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ook at that lame title.   
> fun fact, this fic has been finished for like a week and I’ve been hoarding it. For no particular reason either. It’s not smutty and it’s certainly not the best. But, whatever.

He was drifting in and out of wakefulness, all his energy focused on keeping his eyes open. He lay, on his back, legs stretched out before him, hands on his chest, on an actual bed. It felt like he had been removed from civilisation in the last 24 hours, comfort a completely foreign concept in his brain.

He could hear Claire, in the bathroom, shower shut off, stream still drifting from below the door. She’d been in there for close to an hour - so had he when it was his turn. They washed 65 million years off their skin, scrubbing it away before blood dared to draw. She’d let him have the first shower, he insisted she take it, but she only stepped out of their hotel room, leaving him with no choice. She was back by the time he finished, clean clothes in her hand, a small smile forcing itself across her cheeks when their eyes met. 

She emerged from the bathroom, skin pink from the hot water, or scrubbing dinosaur from her skin, he didn’t know. He blinked a sleepy eye at her, watching as she shuffled across the room. He needed to get up, or roll over - he just had to get off the bed. Owen couldn’t find the energy, he couldn’t physically get himself to move more than an inch. He tried regardless, at least, if he could get to the edge of the bed, he’d just sort of fall off and hit the floor. 

The mattress dipped beside him, slightly, causing Owen to turn his head in surprise. Claire crept across the left side of the bed, crawling on all fours, in pyjama shorts and a t-shirt. She didn’t ask him to move, only watched the side of his face with tired eyes. She collapsed beside him, curling up like the family cat against his rib cage. She threw a leg over his hips, tucking her foot between his legs, while her arms wound around his. Neither of them spoke. Owen shifted slightly, his spare arm reaching out to wrap around her smooth thigh, readjusting her leg across his hips. It was give and take between them, each of them shifting in turn until they were both comfortable, Claire practically half on top of him. 

She mewled slightly, half purr, exhausted breath escaping from her lips. Owen squeezed the hand that sat on the back of her thigh, the only response he could provide. Her body settled against his, growing heavy as her eyes closed, breath evening out softly. 

He never would have picked it, in a million years. Claire Dearing, Senior Assets Manager, tough as nails, seemingly cold as ice; was a cuddler. Caught under her sleepy weight, he took her in. Her red hair fanned across his chest, freckles exposed themselves on her cheeks, her face relaxed in sleep. ‘I can feel you thinking, go to sleep.’ Her fingers tapped against his ribs, eyes staying closed. Even as she cuddled up to him, their hectic day pressing hard against her bones, her body slack against his, energy gone; she was still the boss.


	19. #19 - First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ness345: the first time they met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is terrible and i apologise

It was by sheer coincidence when she met Owen Grady for the first time. His raptor’s had hatched, granting him with four squawking, slippery, little dinosaurs. She’d waltzed into the lab a little after they had hatched, anger bubbling under her skin as she sought out Dr Wu. 

The man in the corner of the lab caught her eye before she could storm into Wu’s office. She hesitated, man in cargo shorts and vest, holding two velociraptor infants in his hand, one on his shoulder, and the fourth, distinctly blue, on the floor, tugging at his shoelace. She stepped closer, angry at Wu, angry at this man who didn’t look like he should have been touching baby dinosaurs with his bare hands. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Her voice snapped, as sharp and clear as the clack of her heels on the lab’s tiled floor. The man looked up at her, green eyes blinking. ‘This isn’t a petting zoo, Mr …’ she didn’t recognise him, or any reason as to why she should know his name. The park was expecting a new trainer, from what Claire had heard, he hand’t arrived yet. Until then, the raptors had to be left alone. 

‘Grady,’ his voice husked. ‘Owen Grady.’ The name rang bells in her ears, but she couldn’t find them, couldn’t stop them from ringing with the correct answer. She went over paperwork, mentally, trying to pinpoint where she had seen the name Owen Grady. ‘The velociraptor trainer,’ he told her, Claire’s silence lasting seconds longer than it needed to. He had seen the cogs working in her mind, trying to tick over, to find the answer. He provided it easily. Claire cheeks flushed pink, her expression still stone cold. Her clear embarrassment made him chuckle, the sound startling his charges. 

The raptors squawked. The raptor pulling on Owen’s shoelace stepped away only to hiss at Claire for getting too close. ‘Claire Dearing,’ she introduced, temper simmering to a slow bubble. She still needed to find Wu, to put up a fuss with the man. But, Owen, sitting on the floor, raptors in his lap, drew her in. ‘Senior Assets Manager,’ she explained. 

Owen looked concerned, one hand pulling his clutch in close. ‘My raptors aren’t assets in this park.’ He told her firmly. There had been paperwork, stacks of it, he read every single one. The velociraptors were a behavioural research project, not a flag of amusement - at least until they were properly handled. He knew there had been a ruckus about the animals, someone, somewhere was putting up a fight towards the project all together. Velociraptors were dangerous, almost uncontrollable, they were not wanted on Isla Nublar. 

‘I know,’ she nodded, ‘I have no intention of turning them into an attraction Mr Grady.’ He had the slightest feeling that it was Claire Dearing herself who fought against the raptors. He smiled at her, dimples pooling on his honey cheeks. 

‘You look like you’re here to rip someone’s head off,’ Owen commented, watching her body sway slightly, hands rolled into fists beside her hips. He had no trouble believing that she was capable of crumbling staff members to dust and bone. He only hoped it wasn’t him. He said as much, flashing teeth in his grin, hoping to charm rather than aggravate. 

Claire laughed, hand flying to her mouth, trying to cover the noise that escaped her. ‘You’re safe, Mr Grady. It’s Wu I’m here for.’ He mocked relief, wiping a hand over his brow grinning up at her. She was beautiful when she laughed. Hell, she was beautiful when rage rushed though her blood, but, it was better to see the smile stretched across her cheeks, blue eyes shining with mirth, rather than the murderous cold. 

‘He was in his office, last I heard.’ Owen helped, offering Claire information. Her smile softened, her head nodding slightly as she moved, heels tapping against the floor again, to seek out Dr Henry Wu. ‘It was nice to meet you, Claire.’ Owen called out just before she left the room. 

She stopped in the doorway, hand on the frame, smile still on her face, cheeks still a little pink. ‘Likewise, Mr Grady.’


	20. #20 - Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire is talking on the phone while Owen is trying to distract her

Their Sundays after the incident, after the media circuit, after the nightmares followed a fairly easy pattern, reliable, almost repetitive. They’d decided on separate residences in the beginning, keeping their fledgling relationship alive through separate space, instead of crowding each other too soon. It hadn’t lasted longer than a month, before his clothes appeared in her wardrobe, his shoes by the door, and most importantly, his body in her bed.

He let her sleep on Sundays. Owen would run, Claire would snooze. Karen would call and wake her, like clockwork, phone buzzing on the bedside table. They talked about nothing and everything, trying their best to open the lines of communication since Isla Nublar, keeping up a weekly schedule, essentially penciled into their calendars. Owen would trudge in sometime after she answered the phone, sweaty and a little out of breath. He’d leave her be, smiling softly, before shuffling into the bathroom to shower.

This morning was different. He went running, yes, her sister had called, still chatting in her ear, but instead of moving silently towards the bathroom, Owen stopped in the doorway. Two take-away cups in his hand, straws poking out of them - not coffee, something that promised - by the looks of it alone - to be cool. The weather felt like it was personally following her, summer a little early that year, making her skin sticky and her body hot. She wasn’t coping already and it had only been two days of warmer than average weather. Owen had almost been banished to the living room, his body temperature too high for her during the night - not that she complained in winter - she’d already slept in her underwear and a singlet, stripping down to bare nothings before she decided sleeping in the nude would keep her the slightest bit cooler. She was still like that, lying in their bed, covers thrown off her, strewn in pale blue panties and white singlet.

He handed her the drink, cup cool around her fingers, sending goosebumps down her arm. She mouthed a small thank you, humming at Karen as she took a sip of ice cold heaven. Claire’s eyes rolled, sweet cool taste exploding across her tongue, pineapple and mango, sliding down her throat, refreshing her, in the least. She could still feel the waves of heat across her skin, but for a moment she forgot. Owen chuckled, watching her expression as she sipped her drink.

‘I keep calling the landlord, but he refuses to do anything about the AC. Says it’s not hot enough to worry about it just yet, anyway.’ She bemoaned to her sister, very clearly complaining about the heat, as she had been for the last forty-eight hours. She wasn’t a whiny person, Claire Dearing sat through far worse things than the heat, but this was her downfall, the heat was the worst thing for her. He eyed her pale skin, wondering how she survived on Isla Nublar in thick suits and dresses, opting to wear jackets half the time too. He rolled his eyes, smirking at her before disappearing from the room. When he returned she didn’t pay him any mind, thoughts fixated on her conversation with Karen, eyes drawn to the window.

Owen flopped down on the bed beside her, receiving a sharp glare from Claire who turned just to scold him slightly. He grinned, leaning into kiss her shoulder fondly, offering it as an apology for what she thought was his jostling the bed. Claire smiled, the corners of her mouth pulling up, as she wrapped the arm not holding her phone, around the back of Owen’s neck. Her fingers coursed through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp softly, absentmindedly.

Usually she would scold him for sweaty skin on her clean linen, but the heat in the last two days had her sweating enough in her sleep, she didn’t care whether he was filthy or not. Owen kissed her shoulder a second time, before moving on to her collar bone, lips gentle against her skin, not overbearing in the heat. Her hand remained in his hair, her voice humming in agreement with Karen, answering her verbally every now and then. He grinned against her skin, a hand finding her hip, thumb tracing lines between the hem of her shirt and elastic of her underwear. Her fingers got a little rougher. Owen shifted, lifting himself a little, to settle a knee between hers, his body half hovering over her, head still against her chest.

She pulled at his hair, making Owen lift his head to look at her. Claire mouthed ‘too hot’ with a mournful shake of her head. That, and she was on the phone with her sister. Owen only nodded, not moving his body away from hers. He had a free hand she didn’t notice, holding a cup of ice. He took a cube and oh so carefully held it to the small sliver of skin that was revealed on her abdomen. Claire jumped, hiss slipping through her lips, her hand flying out to still his wrist. He grinned at her sheepishly. Owen took the ice cube, sucking it into his mouth before he crunched down on it, destroying it completely. Claire went back to her conversation with her sister, something about Karen’s divorce echoing through the speaker.

Owen didn’t stop with the ice, although wasn’t willing to risk the others he’d brought with him, just yet. He pressed and open mouthed kiss to her skin, left hand pulling at the waist of her panties, tugging them down. She shivered underneath him, giggling abruptly before she could stop herself.

He could hear Karen’s voice on the phone, mildly confused. He chose to ignore them mostly, peppering cold kisses across her hips and down her thighs, feeling the goosebumps that pebbled under her mouth, humming into them. ‘It’s nothing, Karen, Owen just left some dumb cartoon on.’ He heard her say, trying to keep control of her voice already. Karen didn’t know about their living arrangements, purely because Claire hadn’t told her. The older Dearing woman was under the impression that Claire lived alone, with sometimes visits from Owen who lived a few streets over. It was all temporary housing, they all knew that, something for the time being until Claire settled on a permanent residence, Owen most likely in tow. It wasn’t that they didn’t want Karen to know, but they certainly wanted to keep it to themselves a while longer.

‘ _Owen’s there?_ ’ He heard her sister practically squeak, almost scandalous as he pulled Claire’s underwear from her long legs. He dropped kisses against her skin, haphazardly on the way down, and back up again, eyes flicking towards her face.

‘No, no, he went to the supermarket,’ her eyes were closed, hand over her face, drink discarded to the bedside table. Owen watched her bite her lip, his hands rubbing inconsistent patterns across her skin. He dropped his head to her skin again, grin on his face as he nipped at her thighs.

‘ _So, he was there,_ ’ Karen’s voice teased down the line, Claire’s skin flushing pink across her cheeks and chest. Claire dropped her hand, returning it to his hair fondly, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying her best to ignore his presence. She didn’t see him reach for another ice cube, or notice as he crushed it with his teeth.

Claire’s ‘maybe’ response came out on a moan as Owen found her folds with his cold lips, tongue probing expertly as she jolted underneath him, her body physically shouting. He’d draped an arm over her hips, keeping Claire’s movements at a minimum, his ministrations torturous against her skin.

‘ _He’s there right now!_ ’ Karen shrieked into the phone. ‘ _And you’re - Claire are you having sex while we’re on the phone?_ ’ He tone dropped, Owen could still hear her shocked voice, even with his head between Claire’s thighs, far more focused on pleasuring her than listening to her conversation with Karen.

‘Not quite,’ Claire laughed, voice breathy as she tried to refrain from crushing Owen’s head or cutting his fingers off for holding her down. Karen’s voice started again, new words falling from her mouth, some accusation about taking it slow, not wanting to spoil what she and Owen had drifting from her lips and straight to Claire’s deaf ears. ‘Karen, I kinda need to go.’ She muttered, squirming slightly as she listened to her sister stutter before she hung up and dropped the phone. ‘You’re incorrigible,’ she hissed, her hand tightening in his hair, death threat falling from her lips fondly.

‘You’re hot,’ he hummed back, chuckling. She jumped slightly, trying to pull away from the vibration of his chuckle against her skin, sparred with with scratch of his stubble still itching against her thighs.

‘You’re not helping me cool down,’ Claire groaned, eyes rolling as a grin skipped across his face.

‘Not what I meant.’ His grin grew, reaching wide and large across his cheeks. He dropped a kiss to the top of her pelvis, thumb rubbing soft circles against the side of her knee. She threatened him with death a second time as he climbed her body slowly, fingers ghosting across her skin as his face managed to hover over hers.

‘Owen, it’s _hot_ ,’ she whined, hands sweaty on his chest. Her skin was burning, he could feel it under his fingers, waves of heat radiating between their chests. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips before trailing back down, his body slinking down the curves of hers, hands caressing her thighs.

‘I have more ice,’ he teased, trying to cool her slight temper. The heat made her grouchy, like a small child at the end of a mild tantrum, arms crossed over her chest, displeased with the choices life made for her.

Claire grinned, biting into her lip, ‘Are you going to use it, or are you just going to talk about it?’

‘Oh, I’m definitely going to use it.’


	21. #21 - 'Look At You'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen finds an old picture of Claire with her nephews and she has long hair and he looooves it!

They were unpacking their lives. Box by box. Claire more so than Owen. Most of what he owned went to Isla Nublar with him, tucked away in his bungalow. But Claire, Claire had things in her sisters possession and locked away in a storage shed.

The picked through boxes and boxes, of nicknacks and heirlooms. She didn’t have much, but she had more than he did, and certainly enough to fill the modest apartment they were sharing. Owen unpacked one box, while Claire worked on another. Pulling out pieces of her life, wrapped in butchers paper and bubblewrap. 

He pulled a photo frame from his designated box. A simple, dark wood, A5 frame, holding a singular picture. He’d pulled a few pictures from the box, but none of them caught his attention as much as this one had. It was Claire, mostly, that stopped him. She stood in the doorway of a home he immediately recognised, toddler on her hip, little boy hanging onto her maxi skirt. Zach and Gray, only little boys, but identifiable. She wasn’t facing the camera, her head turned to the right, smile wide as she grinned down at two-year-old Gray. Her hair was what made him focus on the image, the sole attraction to his eyes. The exact same fiery red, burning embers of orange. Her hair wasn’t cut short, sitting above her shoulders as was her custom look now. Instead, it wobbled in loose waves down to her elbows. 

Owen stared at the picture, his thumb running over the image of a younger Claire Dearing, her hair long, her smile carefree. ‘What did you find?’ Her voice sounded beside him, two glasses of lemonade in her hand. Owen grinned, flashing her the picture. 

‘Look at you! Your hair was so long!’ He was completely mystified. Graciously, he accepted the drink Claire offered, the woman taking the picture from his hand, her smile growing as she gasped. Memories spilled from her lips as she took a seat on the floor beside him. 

She took a sip of her drink, before placing it on the floor beside her hip, staring at the picture as she spoke. ‘My god, this had to have been at Karen’s just before Zach’s seventh birthday. I was twenty-five.’ She sounded shocked, her hand toying with the ends of her hair. She laughed, handing the picture back to Owen, her smile almost similar now as it had been then, distant memory passing across her thoughts. ‘It was long, wasn’t it.’ She leant over his shoulder, spying the picture once more before she started pawing through the box. There was another, same day, baby Gray pulling on her long red hair, blue eyes closed in laugher, freckles speckled across her cheeks. There were a few others, on different occasions, all with her young nephews, one in particular just with Karen and an older man, Claire even younger there than the first few. 

‘Why’d you cut it?’ 

‘Change,’ Claire shrugged. ‘I took the job at Jurassic World, and cut my hair. It felt right, the style changed over the years, but I kept it short.’ 

Owen studied her, watching the lines of her face, the light dust of faded freckles, and lastly, the length of her hair. It was still short, but not as short as it had been. Red strands bypassed her shoulders, there was a long way to go before it reached her elbows, but he could already see the difference in her face. ‘You should grow it out again,’ she stared at him, trying to tell if he was kidding or not. ‘Seriously, Claire, you’re beautiful long hair or no hair, but wow.’

‘You know you only think it looks great because it was from ten years ago, right?’ 

Owen shook his head, ‘Not true’. Claire cocked an eyebrow, biting her lip. She’d been to the hairdressers in the past months since the incident, but only to trim the dead ends of her hair. With each passing week her hair was getting longer, stretching beyond her normal comfort. ‘Change would be nice though,’ she uttered, hand fluffing with the ends of her hair. ‘Jurassic World, and post Jurassic World hair.’ She laughed, as Owen leant over and pecked her on the check. 

‘I can’t wait,’ he’d always had a fondness for her hair, winding his fingers though it, playing with loose strands, she never thought he’d be practically giddy at the idea of her growing it longer. ‘It’s going to be so much fun to play with.’ Claire rolled her eyes at Owen, before turning back to the pictures. 

‘I can promise you, you’re not going to have as much fun as Gray ever did.’ She laughed, tapping her finger against the glass panel of a frame, baby Gray with fistfuls of his aunt’s red hair - still attached to her head.

‘Gray never had a love for braiding hair, did he?’ Claire laughed, shaking her head. ‘Well, there you go - I’ll create my own fun.’


	22. #22 - First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Immediately following the events of the movie, Claire and Owen decided to stick together and he comforts her when she has a nightmare.  
> &  
> ANON: Claire and Owen’s first time. It could be sweet or smutty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I cheated and stuck two prompts together. Which, I'll probably do a little more of to prevent myself from being a little too repetitious with events. I hope you guys don't mind.

He woke with a start. Collecting his bearings, Owen pushed himself up off the floor where he’d made his makeshift bed. His eyes blurred in the dark, the sudden rush of panic to his nervous system setting his vision in a double. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, his ears attuned to the heavy breathing in the bed beside him. He gripped the edge of the mattress, fingers stretching across rough linen as he blindly sought out Claire’s hand. Owen laced his fingers in hers, listening, head on the mattress, to her heavy breathing. He waited, thumb against the pulse point in her wrist, letting it race, judging her urgency; her need to depend on him.

Their first night off the island was bound to bring nightmares. Owen knew that, expected it, tried to mentally prepare himself. He and Claire didn’t speak about it. She remained on her feet until her knees started to buckle, showered and collapsed into the untrustworthy arms of exhausted sleep. They didn’t have time to discuss nightmares.

‘No!’ Her voice screamed out, hand tightening it’s hold on his, nails burying into skin. ‘Leave them alone!’ She shouted, body twisting in the bedsheets. Claire exhaled shakily, the air around them still, lying in wait for the next abruption. ‘Leave them alone, please …’ her words were a whimper, quiet, before her voice raised, shouting _no, no, no, no,_ along with variations of her nephew’s names.

Owen didn’t hesitate. He climbed up onto the bed slowly, careful not to startle her, their hands still clasped. He was slowly loosing feeling in his fingers as he whispered into the shallow night air, calling into her nightmares, lulling her out. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, Claire. We’re not on the island. You’re safe, the boys are safe.’

She woke, sputtering, like her lungs were full of water and she couldn’t breathe. Owen pulled her into his lap, her hands reaching for his face and arms, holding on tight. Claire’s eyes were wild, even in the darkness he could see them jump around, pupils dilated. He let go of her hand to brush sweaty hair from her forehead, pushing it back and out of her face. She struggled to catch her breath, hands still frantic, jumping between clutching his arm and touching his cheek. He was there. He was real. She was trying to cling to the certainty.

‘It’s alright, it’s okay.’ He soothed, dropping a chaste kiss to her temple. Pulling back, he held her face in his hands, searching for the calm waters in her blue eyes. Claire was shaking, her breathing slowing, adrenaline still coursing through every inch of her being. ‘Are you alright?’ He asked, timing his breathing with hers in order to help her regulate. Claire nodded shakily. ‘It was just a nightmare,’ Owen soothed, dropping a second kiss to her skin. ‘Everyone’s safe.’ A third kiss dropped to her cheek, a forth the opposite side. It took him a second to notice he had began worshiping at the alter of Claire Dearing, her distress unapparent, even while it shook in his arms.

She followed him when he pulled away. Comfort turned from useless mutterings to sloppy kisses and fumbling hands. It was quiet, lazy, relaxed, despite being shrouded in the echoes of a dinosaur induced nightmare. Claire was too numb to care, confident in Owen enough to know neither wouldn’t get hurt - just yet. She straddled his lap, one hand in his hair, the other worming its way under his t-shirt.

Delicately, fingers traced the lines of ribs and the curves of hips. His wandering hand did both, moving up to cup her breast gently, thumb tracing the soft shape of it before he retraced his steps, counting her ribs again. Their breaths huffed languidly between them, coupling together in hushed sounds, praise, thankfulness, of being alive.

Their bodies rocked together, circling a rhythmic pattern like it was priceless art. Bursts of urgency overwhelmed them, causing hands to squeeze, nails to scratch and teeth to nip ever so slightly. Their kisses depended when they could afford the air, each quietly fighting for dominance until they both stepped back, falling into the slower dance.

Gliding across her smooth skin, Owen’s calloused hands fixated. Paying careful attention to the sighs and gasps that filtered through her mouth at each touch, each place, each slight suggestion. She didn’t need words to give herself away.

There were no screams of ecstasy, only the sound of shallow breaths, lungs overwrought. Slight groans infiltrated the air, breaking a calming silence before disappearing, as though they had never been there. A subtle swear slipped through open lips, quiet, uncontrollable.

Exhaustion weighted down, the last inch, that demanded attention. It ripped away unimportant moments of regret, crashing heavy bodies to the mattress, sleep already in their heads. His hand in her hair, stroking her scalp softly, only lulled Claire back into her deep sated sleep, her limbs still tangled with his, nightmares waiting to strike, yet again.

They had no other option but to relax into the other, find the comfort they provided in a hope to survive the worst; together.


	23. #23 - French Braids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON (and the other anons who reinforced this idea): Owen French Braiding Claire’s hair. As inspired my Pratt’s magical talent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this is up to expectation, or in the least moderate enough to appease. Also, have I posted three prompts three days in a row? Is this a record. What the heck?

She hummed, voice vibrating in her chest as Owen’s hands worked at a knot in her neck. He kissed her skin gently, hands slipping from her shoulders, fingers just skimming the ends of her hair. ‘Feel better?’ He asked softly, rough voice, gentle touch, a juxtaposition of himself. Gentle and rough. Soft and hard. 

Claire’s head nodded, bobbing slightly on her shoulders as she hummed a second time, quiet, sleepy. The sun had set, dinner prepared and eaten, work for the night complete. They sat in the living room, TV on low, reality program playing out with little attention paid to it. She hadn’t complained verbally about the pain in her neck, only subtly indicated until he took the hint.

He skimmed his fingers across her shoulders, a second time. Languidly flowing fingertips chased down her arms and up her spine. Claire shivered, leaning back into his touch with a slight grumble. He lifted his hands, fingers tucked just behind her ear, thumb against the downward slope of her skull. He pulled his hands towards his chest, soft red hair slipping through his fingers. He repeated the movement, combing his fingers through her hair before collecting it all in his hands. She let her hair grow in the years after their departure from Jurassic World. New life, new Claire, new hair. It swayed half way down her back, folding in lazy curls, twisting itself around his fingers. Owen loved it, was almost enthralled by her red locks, certainly hypnotised when he could run the length through his fingers. 

He parted the hair in his hands, splitting it into three, before criss crossing it gently. She slipped a little, against his legs, body relaxing. Playing with her hair had become a ritual, born from nightmares in a tiny Costa Rican hotel. It was calming now, the horrors years behind them, soothing actions continued as therapy. Owen laced her hair, one part over the other, over the opposite, and back again. He moved with silent reverence, hardly concentrating as her hair tightened itself, becoming a simple long knot, easy to untangle. 

Owen slid his fingers through the braid once he was done. With no complaint from Claire, he started again. Lazily he threaded her hair, creating his same braid, only a little neater. His eyes strayed to the television, some young woman on the reality program crying. He was intrigued for a second, eyes glued to the screen until it cut to commercial. He’d finished her braid a second time, without even looking. 

‘Do you want me to put it up for bed?’ He asked quietly, staring at the back of her head, fingers playing with the ends of her hair. Claire nodded slowly, small mumble drifting from her mouth. Owen couldn’t help the chuckle: she was falling asleep. He used one hand to loosen her already sloppy braid a second time, the other hand seeking out a hair-tie in the breast pocket of his shirt. Finding one successfully, and with little effort, Owen snapped the tie around his wrist. Concentrating on braiding her hair for the third time, he attempted for neat without being too concerned with the outcome. He watched his hands move, fingers tangled with strands of hair, expertly moving three groups between two hands. His tongue pushed at the corner of his mouth, concentration biting deep. 

He finished, tying the wispy ends tight, Owen tapped Claire on the shoulders. Silent language for all done. She didn’t move. ‘C’mon, Sleeping Beauty, time for bed.’ He encouraged, hearing her breathing stutter, her body shifting slightly. She grumbled back at him like an exhausted teen, woken too early in the morning. ‘As much as I’d love to sit here playing with your hair, we need to go to bed.’ He tugged on the tail of her braid teasingly, knowing if he antagonised her enough that she’d eventually get up. Claire shifted, turning on her side in order to tilt her head up at him, small pout in place across her lips. ‘C’mon,’ he encouraged, slipping his legs out from behind her back, his hand extended for hers. 

‘You’ve gotta stop doing that.’ Claire yawned, taking his hand, letting him pull her up. ‘Playing with my hair.’ She used her free hand - other entwining her fingers with his - to fluff about her ear, indicating her braid. ‘You keep putting me to sleep,’ she yawned a second time, leaning into his shoulder as they stood there. 

‘Talent, right there.’ He commented with a slight wink, his hand squeezing hers. Claire reached up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek gently, before stepping away, ‘bed’ on her lips.


	24. #24 - For the First Time, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON & drtayswift & a few unnamed others: Owen getting injured and having to have surgery and being ADORABLE when coming off the anesthetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also inspired by this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqebEymqFS8

He always had to go and get hurt. It was an impulse, an urge, a recurrent theme with no explanation other than the shrug of his shoulders and, ‘whoops’. He was never injured too badly, nothing beyond an angry bruise and sore muscles, enough to deter him for a day or two. 

Owen had managed to push his back too far. Pain building excruciatingly over the years, his doctor’s only recommendation - surgery. 

Claire was nervous. Neither of them had been that badly hurt in all their years. Not even after the Indominus-Rex incident on Isla Nublar. Hospitals haunted her. The only time she was ever in them, someone died. She clung to her husband the night before his surgery, arms and legs wrapped tight around his limbs. Scared out of her wits she drove him to the hospital, sitting in her own anxious energy, too scared to touch him in fear of breaking down. 

Holding her face in his hands, Owen kissed his wife’s cheeks. He gently spreading his kisses across her face before he touched her forehead with his. She nearly cried when he promised to see her soon, grin hugging his cheeks, last kiss left on her lips. 

His doctor came to find her personally when Owen’s surgery was over. He smiled at her politely, filling her in, everything went well. They were expecting him to wake any minute. ‘He’ll be a little groggy for a while, just until the anaesthetic wears off.’ He warned, introducing her to the nurse on Owen’s ward. 

They’d left a pack of crackers beside the bed, a cup, and a jug of water. Stacy, the nurse, reminded Claire that she was only a shout away as she left the woman in the silence of her husband’s hospital room. 

She fidgeted for what felt like an hour: shuffling in her chair, messing with her phone, holding his hand and letting it go. It only took him twenty minutes to wake, his eyes fluttering open, green eyes peering through slits of his eyelids. ‘Hey,’ she whispered softly, her hand brushing down the side of his cheek. Owen only stared at her, his eyes glassy. Stacy came in to check his readings, smiling softly to herself as she moved around them. 

They had him drinking water thirty minutes after that. Claire left the room temporarily to answer a call, leave Stacy to command Owen’s actions. ‘Make sure he eats that cracker. He can do it as slowly as he likes, but I need him to eat it.’ Claire nodded, taking the woman’s instruction on board. 

His eyes were closed, arms beside his hips when she reentered the room. ‘You need to eat the cracker,’ she tapped his wrist. The hand holding the small biscuit raised to his mouth blindly, teeth crunching into it with complaint. He sooked like a little boy, mouth downturned asking in his curious and dazed voice if he could sit up. 

Claire hesitated, hands hovering over his arm. ‘I, ah, I don’t know. I’ll ask when you finish your cracker.’ 

He rolled his head towards her voice, eyes opening to look at her. He blinked once, twice, ‘Did the doctor send you?’ She blinked back at him, confused at the question. Claire expected the anaesthetic to make him a little confused, she hadn’t thought that he wouldn’t recognise her. She opened her mouth, small smile creasing her cheeks, prepared to respond when he kept talking. ‘Man,’ the sound came out on an almost whistling exhale, ‘you are eye candy’. Claire almost choked on the laugh that jumped through her throat. ‘Whoa,’ he exhaled again, eyes fluttering closed as his head lolled. Owen touched the cracker to his lips, before he started up at the ceiling. ‘You’d be the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.’ Claire rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing at his blatant words. ‘Are you a model?’ He asked with slightly drugged sincerity. 

‘Nope,’ she popped the ‘p’. ‘Eat the cracker,’ Claire encouraged, tapping his wrist a second time. 

‘Who are you?’ He asked around a cracker, eyes blinking up at her. ‘What’s your name?’ 

She smiled softly, watching his face with tender admiration. ‘My name is Claire,’ she introduced, ‘I’m your wife.’ Owen’s whole face transformed, dazed eyes alight with wonder. 

‘You’re my wife?!’ Warmth washed over her, dripping down her shoulders, chasing her spine. Claire had been so worried about him. Scared to leave him in the arms of helpful hospital wings. His doctor delivered him back to her, safely, albeit a little disorientated. She didn’t know if this had ever been his first impression of her, she was humbled. To be seen so highly. Praised upon by first eyes that it seemed unlikely she would ever pick him. She had. Picked him, he her. This ridiculous man; hers. ‘Holy shit!’ Owen exclaimed, eyes closing again. Nonsense words filtered from his mouth for a minute, disbelief fumbling from his lips. ‘How long?’ He inquired, Claire only laughed. 

‘Just eat your cracker, Owen, you’re still waking up.’ 

His eyes flicked back to hers, still glassy, not yet himself. The love was recognisable, despite his eyes not being right. It was still Owen, only a little confused. ’Do we have children?’ Claire shook her head, quite voice whispering not yet. Soon, she hoped. ‘Oh man.’ Most of what passed his lips remained to whatever world the anaesthetic was providing him with, distorting the world around him in lazy swirls of drug induced sleep. ‘Man, have we kissed yet?’ Claire laughed at him, almost snorting with the sound as she reminded him of the cracker, pushing on his arm softly. ‘It’s hard, baby, it’s hard.’ He complained, cracker between his teeth. ‘Do we do that,’ he stopped, ‘Do we call each other ‘baby’?’ 

‘You prefer ‘honey’,’ she told him. Claire preferred it too, the pet name almost soothing off his lips. Mostly they called each other by their names, but there were occasions of admiration or stress in which honey, baby, sweetheart, wound their way around tongues. 

‘How long have we been married?’ He stumbled around his words, eyes blinking closed. 

‘A long time,’ she chuckled, reaching out to push a loose curl from his forehead. 

Owen groaned, ‘Oh my god,’ his eyes flickered closed, cracker still held between his lips. ‘I hit the jackpot!’ She laughed at him again. He’d only been talking close to ten minutes and all she had done was insist he ate a plain water crack, and laugh. He was acting ridiculously, her cheeks burning with his honest flattery. He spaced out for a moment, eyes closed, hands still. She watched him while he lay quietly, eyes tracing over his soft features. She wondered briefly what exactly going through his head, how was he seeing her for the first time, again? 

‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’ He muttered again before fading off. Claire covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed with his admissions. Owen had never skimped out on telling her how beautiful she looked, or how much he loved her. Hearing it come from his lips as though it was the first things he was ever saying to her, made it intense. ‘Let me see your face,’ His hand tapped at her elbow, slightly off, mind still groggy. ‘Let me see your face.’ Claire pulled her hands away, smiling at him shyly. ‘Whoa, your hair is on fire!’ He tried to reach up to tug on a strand of her hair, Claire grabbed his hand instead, knowing he was going to cut himself short. ‘And your eyes - are they from the ocean?’ She shook her head at his ridiculous words, rolling her eyes slightly as the blush on her cheeks crept down her neck. ‘Turn around for a sec …’ he tapped at her hip with his hand, still held by hers. 

Embarrassed laughter was almost a constant from her lips, soft, small giggles. ‘No. Owen, eat your cracker.’ Taking a moderate bite, he did as she asked. 

Owen sat quietly for a minute, swirling pieces of biscuit around in his mouth. ‘We’re married! Whoa.’ Claire squeezed his hand, moving it to rest on his chest. The diamonds in her engagement ring sparkled in the soft light, enough to catch Owen’s dizzy eyes. ‘Did I get you that ring?’ She hummed, nodding slowly. ‘I musta been really liking you.’ He tapped at the diamonds, thumb sliding across the silver wedding band beside it. 

‘Some would say you loved me.’ 

‘Totally do,’ he mumbled, eyes closed again, voice drifting, cracker finished. Claire let him fall into sleep, knowing that when he woke again he probably wouldn’t remember their conversation. 

She couldn’t shake the look in his drowsy eyes, the love she saw there - more lust than anything else - but the look that almost screamed that he knew from the beginning, she was the one. It was confronting, to see that look in his eye, so pure, so undefined. It startled her, but all the same, it reassured any feelings of doubt that wanted to surface in her mind. They were strong, they were in love, they would remain that way through injury and anaesthetic, through disagreement and blow out argument, through anniversaries and ‘just because I love you’ dates. Nothing was going to be disrupted between them, that wasn’t endured by hospital anaesthetic.


	25. #25 - Anya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire finding out about Owen’s past (having a kid who got sick and passed away) but she doesn’t find out from him, she finds out through one of Owen’s old friends and they thought Claire knew.

The word echoed in the crevices of his life. Every decision perceived by the raspy little voice in his head. Helpless, hopeless, frightened. He never turned his back on the voice, instead, carried it inside his chest pocket. The heavy weight warmth sat against his heart, concealed from the world, kept safe with him.

He needed to let her go, loosen his grip on her little hand, accept the fact that he never got his proper goodbye. But the words kept ringing, repeating over and over, quiet and shy.

_Daddy. I love you, Daddy. I love you._

Nine years. It followed him. The little girl voice. If he turned quick enough, he caught her watching over him. Her sweet face hidden in the shadows, proud smile igniting her green eyes. There were bad days. Days were storm clouds brewed above his head. Days where, if he closed his eyes tight enough he could almost feel her toddler arms around his neck, squeezing as tight as she could.

He kept Anya a secret, his life recreated anew. Her death preceded the week before InGen approached him for militaristic project on Jurassic World’s Isla Nublar. He took it without second thought. Owen buried his daughter, standing stoically beside her mother, refusing to acknowledge the terrible thing that sat between them, gone at both of their guilty hands. He left straight after, flight directly to Costa Rica, first ferry onto the island.

Her name wasn’t mentioned after that, his friend’s kept locked lips on her memory, hiding away the photographs, enabling his pain. Once his clutch was born, Owen through his attention into his four new girls, leaving Anya to stand by his side, her ghostly existence keeping him company.

He tried to tell Claire, her back to him as she got ready for bed. He choked on the words, coughing into his hand harshly as he batted away angry tears. He couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t tell Claire that once upon a time he’d had a little girl, a very large part of himself in a small human being. A little girl who lit up the stars in the sky, but who drowned when her mother stepped away to answer the door. He still couldn’t understand it himself who drowned in her mother’s care. It had been almost eight years and the words couldn’t slip from his mouth. He wasn’t worried for her reaction, in fact, he knew how she would react, his mind just wouldn’t let the words go.

He’d only ever said it once, over and over again, only ever on one day as he ragged inside his home. He broke things, throwing books to the floor, knick knacks, lamps, but never her things. Anya’s toys remained where she had left them, scattered in odd places across her father’s apartment. Her bag hanging over a dining chair, her jacket still on the couch. Her things lay silent, while his were destroyed, Owen throwing his fist through the wall.

His best friend, Josh, had been there, standing against the front door, watching silently as Owen lost his mind, red in the face, throat raw. He yelled, swearing words in-between ‘She’s dead. My baby is dead.’ Josh and his, at the time, girlfriend Allex kept watch over Owen making sure he didn’t hurt himself, or anyone else. They didn’t like Anya’s mom, Kelly, never had any reason to other than she gave Owen his little wonder … and then took her away. That didn’t stop them from trying to keep Owen away from her, more for his sake then hers. He wouldn’t live with himself if he’d hurt her.

They tried to help, Allex and Josh, other friends, all of them pitching in to get his mind on the mend. Owen didn’t want it. He stayed in bed for two days, lying in the dark, hardly eating. He tortured himself with Anya’s beloved stuffed bear, a medium sized fluffy thing he’d bought for her before she was born. She had called on her mother’s phone, asking in her sweet little voice if he could please bring Teddy home. She couldn’t sleep without him, Owen knew that. He abandoned his day to return her bear, knocking on her mother’s door just minutes before her last breath.

He held himself grossly responsible.

The day InGen called, looking to speak with him, was the day Owen got out of bed. His only motivation was getting out of there.

He had no need to tell Claire while they were on the island. They weren’t anything serious. While they processed in Costa Rica after the incident, tagging along with the Dearing-Mitchell family, Owen’s gut dragged. It was Gray. The boy was lovely, sweet, completely enthralled with Owen. But, he was the same age Anya would have been. The same youthful spirit, the same boundless step. He saw his daughter in a young man who had no relation to her. It made him sick, the first intense thoughts of Anya in five years, and they had to happen there, with Gray practically hanging off his arm.

He tried to tell her when their relationship got serious. Especially after she poured her heart out, explaining to him the day her father died, and the reason behind her semi strenuous relationship with Karen. The words were sitting in the back of his throat, lumped there, making it impossible to swallow his fear. He let it go.

Then he panicked, urgency pulling on his gut, when Claire came to him calmly, caught on the idea that she was pregnant. Anya had been deceased for nine years. He still couldn’t find the words. When the stick turned blue, negative sign in it’s small window, his chest collapsed. Owen listened to Claire murmur ‘it’s for the best’ before he left, the rubber soles of his sneakers slapping against the pavement as he made rounds of their little piece of suburbia.

He had to tell her, he just didn’t know how.

It came to no surprise that Claire eventually found out from someone else.

*

When life commenced after the Indominus incident, Owen introduced Claire to his friends. Allex and Josh were waiting with open arms and two small children, pulling Claire into a gracious welcoming hug.

Anya was a silent topic, one no one mentioned. Allex watched Owen’s face carefully, checking for traces of the little girl in her father’s laugh lines. He had been absent so long, that she had worried, knowing the dark pits he had receded too, she didn’t want him to go back. He went to Jurassic World to escape his dead daughter, and now he was back, with no new route of escape. Claire wanted to settle in San Diego, Masrani Global holding offices there, promising her a job when she was ready to take it.

After two years Allex was as much Claire’s friend, as she had been Owen’s all those years ago. Lunch dates were a regular between Claire and Allex, the two women treating themselves away from their significant others, and responsibilities.

‘I’d really hate to impose,’ Allex sighed, smiling softly at the woman sitting across from her.

Claire waved her friend off. ‘It’s no hassle, Al. Owen’s great with the kids, we can watch them overnight.’ There had been a mixup in incoming plans between Allex, Josh and their parens. They needed someone to watch the kids for one night, until Allex’s parents could collect them. Claire, having warmed to them after two years, adored her friend’s children. It was second nature to offer herself and Owen for babysitting duty.

‘Are you sure? Will Owen be up for it?’

‘Of course he will, his back, maybe not. But, he’ll love it.’ Claire laughed, already excited for the four and six-year-old to come visit.

Allex smiled softly, ‘I just worry about him. It’s been so long since Anya, but I just - I don’t know. Maybe I’m stuck in the past more than he is.’ She shrugged. Opening her mouth to continue, Allex stopped, noting the slight confusion on Claire’s face.

‘Anya?’

Allex stopped, her hands poised mid movement, her breathing shallowing, too scared to take a proper breath. ‘You don’t know about Anya?’ Her voice was quiet, whispering as she watched her friend’s face, trying to determine if there was any reason to lie. ‘You really need to talk to Owen,’ Allex clammed up cheeks burning red, eyes burrowing into Claire. ‘It’s not my place to tell.’

*

She found him in the garage when she arrived home, heels clipping against concrete as she approached. Owen looked up with a wide smile, hands greasy with oil. Claire’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t want to bombarde him, but there was no other way. Her name was scratching at her tongue, worst case scenarios chasing fear around her head. He asked her about lunch, eyes sparkling in the light grin almost permanent. She hesitated before she took the grin away, her breath shuddering in her lungs.

‘Who’s Anya?’ Claire’s voice was soft, almost a whisper against the gentle sound of the street around them.

A mother’s voice echoed her son’s name down the street, bouncing off neat homes and spotless yards. ‘She was my daughter.’ The child called back, bike wheels screeching to a stop. Claire held her breath. She knew that was the answer she was going to receive, it was only logical in context, and yet she couldn’t quite grasp why he had kept it from her. ‘Allex tell you?’

Claire nodded on a half shrug, ‘her name came up in passing.’ She whispered, hands clasped in front of her, watching as the smile melted from his face, Owen’s eyes to the ground, hands fidgeting.

‘I’m surprised it took them this long,’ he sighed.

‘Really, because I’m surprised that I never knew.’ Claire bit a little harder than she meant too. Owen swallowed, adams apple bobbing in his throat. A beat passed, a second, a third. ‘I’m here for you - always.’ She stepped forward, crouching down in front of him, her hand on his knee.

Owen got up abruptly, slipping away from Claire’s touch and into the house. She stared at the empty space he left, sighing heavily before entering the house herself, convinced that she could move on with her day without his answers. She situated herself in the study, determined to work when Owen appeared, box in his hands.

_Anya McGregor-Grady_ was penned, in his handwriting across the top. Claire hesitated, hand hovering over the box. ‘How long has this been in the house?’ she asked softly, curious as to why she hadn’t noticed it.

‘Only a month. When you thought you were pregnant, I realised I was going to have to tell you sooner or later, I had my sister bring this by.’ He lifted the lid softly, revealing hidden treasures of a life too young to have ended. ‘I did try to tell you, more than once. I just, I could never find the words.’ Claire peered into the box, a soft plush teddy sitting on top, a photo album underneath it. Owen motioned for her to go ahead, to explore his daughter’s life - what was left of it.

‘She drowned,’ he told her, ‘of all things. I went over to return the bear - Teddy.’ He pulled the push animal out of the box, holding it tightly in his hands. He never returned it to her, he wanted to, had intended to. He just couldn’t let it go. ‘Her mother left her in the pool to let me in. We argued about something ridiculous, I don’t even remember now. It wasn’t important. I wanted to see her, to deliver the bear personally as she asked. When I walked out into the yard … it was too late. It takes three minutes for a kid to drown, did you know that? Three minutes. We were occupied for five.’

Claire listened, watching her partner’s face as he recalled, only briefly, the split second reaction that had him jumping straight into the pool to pull out the bright yellow blur that had been his daughter on the very bottom. She didn’t know what to say to him. Claire had been mad initially that Owen had kept something from her for so long. Before speaking to him she already acknowledged that there was most likely good reason as to why he avoided the topic with her.

He flashed her a slow, wobbly smile, his hand reaching out to squeeze Claire’s. She should have been the one comforting him. ‘I’ve spent so much time pushing almost every thought of her to the back of my mind, that I never properly grieved.’ Tears bubbled in his eyes, threatening to overspill and run down his cheeks. ‘I don’t know how to talk about her. I don’t - I never know where to start.’

‘You can start wherever you want, Owen. I want to know about her, if you want to share her.’

He nodded slowly, ‘I do,’ he reached into the box, pulling out a small photo album, and handed it over. Claire flicked through the images delicately, hovering over each one, from tiny newborn wrapped up tight, to messy four-year-old covered in marmite. Her eyes fluttered over dark brown hair, deep dimples and startling green eyes. The smiles, caught on glossy paper, were contagious, pulling on the corners of Claire’s lips slowly, teasing out joy from it’s hiding place.

‘She was beautiful,’ Claire whispered, fingers ghosting over the image of Owen and his daughter, fast asleep on the couch, girl in her father’s lap, Owen resting his head on hers. The both of them covered in paint.

Owen grinned, ‘She ‘painted’ my car that day, I swear, she was trouble all over.’ Once the words were out, they kept flowing. Anecdotal memories, the slightest insights on Anya, and the biggest. Her naughtiest incidents and the times he would just hug her so tight he contemplated never letting her go. Claire listened, letting the floodgates open for Owen as he released nine years of held in emotion towards his small daughter.

Nothing was perfect. She wished he hadn’t kept Anya from her, but he was letting her in now. The stories flowing fast and free as the sunset outside their study window.


	26. #26 - I'm Glad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen finally remembering that Claire is actually his wife and she tells him everything he said to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also connected to prompt #24

He waned in and out of wakefulness, sometimes alert, other times not. Claire wandered in an out from his room, taking calls, messaging her sister, tapping through emails on her phone. She left for an hour, promised at the hand of nurses that he wouldn’t wake while she was gone. They had been right, of course, she found him snoring softly exactly how she had left him when she returned.

Owen’s voice croaked at her softly, once Claire settled herself into the chair beside his bed. She smiled at her husband, fond grin stretching across her face. ‘Hey,’ she breathed, ‘are you feeling a little more like yourself?’ She could already see it in the clarity of his green eyes, Owen, one-hundred per cent. His brow crinkled, confusion setting over his features, just briefly. ‘The anaesthetic took you for a ride, earlier.’

‘Good, you know - I knew that anaesthesiologist was a great guy.’ He joked easily, grinning at Claire as he reached his hand out to clasp hers. ‘So long as I’m getting my money’s worth - I’m happy.’

She laughed, rolling her eyes a little before she took his hand. ‘I’ll remember that for next time. At least then I’ll have a heads up to set my phone on record. You know, a girl’s gotta hold dear the memories in which her husband forgets they’re married and proceeds to loose his mind when he’s told otherwise.’ Owen brought his hand to rest on his forehead, Claire’s fingers entangled with his, soft groan escaping his lips. ‘Oh, yes, it happened.’

‘What did I say?’ He braced himself, she could see the effort hold his features straight, concentrating on the hopeful thought that he hadn’t managed to say anything wrong.

‘Well, for starters, you thought your doctor had sent a hot, model, nurse to come tend to you.’

‘The only natural assumption with you standing over my bed.’ Claire’s cheeks flushed, her eyes rolling at his antics. Leave it to Owen to be simultaneously embarrassed and flirtatious. She muttered, _incorrigible_ , loud enough for him to hear her. Owen grinned, his reactions were slower than what she was used too, only a second or two off. He was still her Owen. Slightly hazed out on pain medication, but still her loveable goofy husband. ‘I know there’s more - it’s got to be worse than that.’

Claire chuckled, her hand straying to thread her fingers through his hair, pushing down his messy locks. ‘Worse? No. It was endearing actually,’ she pulled her chair closer, leaning her elbows on the edge of the mattress. ‘The revelation that we were married - you, your exact words I believe were, “I hit the jackpot”. Which,’ a smile stretched across her face, ‘isn’t untrue.’

Still holding onto one of her hands, Owen raised it to his lips, kissing it softly. ‘Whatever did I do to deserve you?’ He hummed, squeezing her fingers.

Claire had a peculiar interest in the answer to that question. She couldn’t quite remember, only knew that they just seemed to fall together. Regardless of the universe throwing them apart, after their sordid, horrible date, it tied them back to one another only a year after. He was the chaos to her control. Somehow, after it all; their proposition for survival and the media ring after the incident, he’d become her calm anchor. It all felt natural after that. Each part of their lives found a slot beside the other, existing in harmony.

What had it been that made Claire Dearing fall in love with Owen Grady? She couldn’t remember. The fact that their love still soared on had her in no rush to recollect. ‘Whatever it was,’ she hummed, smiling at him fondly. ‘I’m glad you did it.’


	27. #27 - The Cuddler 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: a continuation of #18 - The Cuddler

They were still trying to figure out a way to make their apartment theirs. Claire wanted to redecorate within their renters agreement. Owen couldn’t see the point. It was temporary. Just a space to exist in while they settled back into normal lives with enough time to hunt for houses. It was slow going, even after the short six weeks they’d been staying there. 

He didn’t need fancy decorations, fresh paint, or IKEA furniture. All he needed, to make the place home, was the sound of Claire’s shoes clacking on the concrete outside the front door. He learnt to listen out for her, Claire arriving home two hours after him. He listened for it, her shoes against the ground, her key in the lock. 

‘How was work?’ Owen asked, catching the soft smile on her tired face one Claire stepped through the door. He knew she had been flat out, back to back conferences. She was new to the company and they weren’t going easy on her for it. Claire liked the challenge, liked that they didn’t set her on the lowest rung. That didn’t mean she wasn’t exhausted. He called in his lunch break, as had been customary since they returned to the workforce. She’d been held up in a meeting, her assistant wouldn’t put him through. 

Claire grunted, slipping off her shoes and shrugging off her coat. She kissed his forehead as she passed him, Owen lying on the couch, football on mute. She was back, not even a minute later, rid of pantyhose and pencil skirt replaced by sleep shorts and a t-shirt. ‘If I hear one more word about statistics, I think I might break something.’ His eyes flicked from her to the game, commentators on the screen, talking about what he could only guess was player statistics. Owen flicked the channel over. 

Instead of taking the empty space on the couch, Claire half climbed on top of him. She snuggled herself into the space between his ribs and the back of the couch, tucking her arm against his chest, her ear to his shoulder. He almost expected her actions now, knew without a doubt that she would cuddle against him after a long day. Claire sighed heavily, her legs tangling with his, day rolling off her shoulders as she settled against his chest. 

Owen settled his arms around her, thumb stroking a steady line across her ribs, playing with the soft fabric of her t-shirt. They shared so many moments like this. From their first night in Costa Rica, homeless and possibly jobless, but with their lives still intact. To small moments when the weather sat a slight bit cooler than Central America, their bodies not yet acclimatised. She curled up against his chest like a tiny baby cat for all amounts of reasons, each one as important as the next. He only wanted to ensure that she kept it up. ‘You really like to cuddle, don’t you?’ Owen couldn’t help but ask, pointing it out to Claire who didn’t seem to notice. 

‘I do not!’ She bristled, her cheek burning against his chest. ‘I had a long day, is all. And you’re warm.’ She snuggled closer. If it was possible for Claire Dearing to climb under his skin, Owen was sure she would have done it by now. She was always cold, freezing in fact, her hands and her feet, always shocking him in the night. Claire always pointed out how warm he was, like her own personal heater. He didn’t mind so much. He knew most of the time her cuddly-ness had something to do with his heartbeat, especially when she woke from a nightmare, her ear pressed to his chest until the measured thudding lulled her back to sleep. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ She asked, halfheartedly pulling away. 

Owen tightened his hold. ‘No, no, definitely don’t stop.’ Claire hummed, letting them fall into silence for a second before he spoke a second time. ‘I think I love you.’ He felt her freeze against him, again, her whole body rigid. It hadn’t even been two months yet. He was sure. More sure than his reason to live. He loved her. ‘You don’t have to say it back, I just - I needed to say it.’ He felt her body relax, a shaky breath, stuttering itself from her lungs. 

He could feel the cogs turning in her brain, deliberating what exactly to say. How to surmount her feelings, or how to let him down. Instead she wrapped her arms around him tighter, brought herself closer and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. Her, ‘I think I love you too’, was so subtle, so silent, that he almost missed it. Claire shifted a little, hand on his chest pushing her body up to kiss his chin, his cheek, his lips. She settled back down against his chest, letting silence wash over them as they fell into their nightly routine. Picking up the pieces around making dinner and tidying up, confessions of love sitting in between every word and every action. 

He loved her and she loved him back.


	28. #28 - Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: after the incident Owen puts lotion on Claire  
> &  
> ANON: we totally need vanilla lotion related smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t gathered - this contains NSFW content. 
> 
> Also :) it’s :) still :) really :) awkward :) to :) write :) 
> 
> This whole piece started off making no sense, and ended that way too. Have fun. I need so stop self deprecating shit. It only makes you guys notice things more.

He knew she was getting sick of the hotel soaps. She was professional about it, moving in and out of days without a word. Instead she would rub at her hands, pawing at dry skin, doing the same with her ankles. There was no time to complain, no need to do so either. They were in and out of conferences, interviews, report meetings. They barely had time to begin a conversation, let lone complain about their living situations.

The week had been long and particularly tiring. It didn’t help that she woke with panic on her tongue repetitively throughout the night, and he in cold sweats, his nightmares silent but just a ferocious.

Owen didn’t know what propelled him to wander through the small department store. He’d seen it on their in and out trips to and from the office building Masrani Global kept in Costa Rica and their hotel - the only room they could find once they stumbled off the ferry. It wasn’t wise to wander the streets, not after his face had been plastered over every news channel the world had to offer, but the street was quiet. He could’t see the harm. He found what he was looking for without even trying, almost knowing by instinct without ever seeing the label. He paid and hurried back to the hotel.

Claire sat exactly as she had everything night at approximately 6:15pm. At the hotel room’s small table, ankles crossed, back straight, one elbow on the table, both hands typing furiously on a provided laptop curtesy of Masrani Global. She didn’t turn when he pushed the door shut behind him. ‘They want me to release an official damage report,’ she sighed quietly as Owen came to stand beside her. ‘We’re not going to know that until ACU get over there and start surveying the park.’ Owen hummed, nodding along with her statement as she continued to type and he twisted the top off his purchase.

She flinched slightly when he picked up her hand with a gentle touch and something cold. ‘What are you - is that vanilla?’ She stuttered, as the soothing scent of vanilla wafted towards her nose, Owen kneading her hand between the two of his.

Claire moved, abandoning her laptop to face him straight on. ’I know you can’t really leave without being stormed by the press, and that you would never ask me to fetch anything for you. But, you’re starting to smell like generic hotel soap - and that’s just not right.’ He chuckled, deserving the slap to the arm Claire hit him with.

Owen dropped to his knees, beside the chair she was sitting in. He took the tube of vanilla scented lotion, the label boasting coco butter as well - he didn’t care - and added more the palm of his hand.

Claire giggled, actually giggled, as he wrapped his fingers around her ankles thumbs kneading her flesh like they had done her hands. Her muscles were still sore, ridged after a days hike through the park and a sprint from a T-Rex, all in heels. She was fearless, he had garnered, even before that day. But that, that only proved it to anyone else who doubted her.

She half purred as his hands made their way up her calves, delivering the same torturous massaging treatment he had instilled upon her ankles. He dug his fingers in deep, seeking out the knots and tangles, working up to her knee and back down again. When he was satisfied, he moved onto the other leg.

It had been a little over two weeks and he had already developed a thing for worshiping her legs. Sexually or not so. Owen leant forward to press a kiss to her knee as she shuffled the weight he was sitting on. Her skirt followed his fingers as his hands traced up and over her knee, pushing the fabric up and out of the way as his fingers made their pilgrimage. She had the slightest hint he almost loved the journey more than the destination, on some occasions. ‘Much better,’ Owen muttered, pressing his nose into her thigh, inhaling the fresh scent of the vanilla lotion he bought. It wasn’t quite right, clearly not the same stuff she bought when on the island, but close enough to satisfy a small need.

There was a light urge in him, that needed a waft of vanilla to hit his nose as she breezed past him so effortlessly. That indistinguishable smell against the rough texture of the raptor paddock when she came to visit. He could pick her out anywhere on the island - so long as it wasn’t peak tourist season. She wasn’t Claire if she also didn’t smell like plain cupcakes, not too sweet, straight out of the oven, not added icing.

‘I’m not a dessert.’ He was talking aloud. Owen grinned, dropping a wet kiss to the smooth skin of her thigh, only an inch higher than where his hands were sitting, cradling her hips. His, _why not_ , was only received with the roll of her eyes. He dropped a second open mouthed kiss to her soft skin, sucking gently, playing on her tactile senses as he scratched his stubble across her sensitive skin.

He didn’t know who moved first. Whether she slipped from her chair, or he pulled her. The planet jumped underneath them, landing Claire in his lap no matter who instigated the move. Claire easily wound one arm around his neck, the other sneaking up the back of his shirt, nails already digging into his flesh. Her mouth caught his, hot and urgent, fighting with his tongue for control. He succumbed, letting Claire take the lead as she drew kisses from his lips, to his jaw, down his neck. Caught on his collar bone, Claire started to laugh.

‘You smell like vanilla,’ she explained when he hissed a hardly audible, what. She smiled, an odd sort of look on her face, blue eyes soft as she rubbed at his skin. She doted, trying to wipe as much of the smell away. Not that she didn’t like it, she loved the warm familiar smell of vanilla. It ticked her nose when it sat on his skin, fresh, capable of masking the woods smell that always seemed to accompany Owen with very little effort. She liked the way he smelt, she didn’t want to change it - not this soon.

He pulled her hands away, thumb and forefinger wrapped around her wrist. The subtle break in her control had him in for the kill. His lips found a weak spot on her neck, beating erratically with her pulse. Claire cried out, her knees buckled, despite the fact that she was sitting in his lap, his waist cradled in between her thighs. She started pulling at his clothing, tugging at the grey t-shirt he wore, not caring at which angle it came off.

Without a word, Owen picked her up, arms under her hips. Claire shrieked, her limbs locking onto him tighter as he stood, moving them both to the bed. He dropped her, softly, to the mattress, grinning as she giggled. They both scrambled to rid themselves of clothes, throwing fabric in every direction.

Owen’s hands skated up her legs, tracing the lines of her bones, mapping out her muscles. ‘I told you, you smelt like vanilla.’ He grinned, body hovering over hers, self satisfied smirk on his lips. She’d stuttered in the jungle, thrown back by his admission. It still caught her off guard that he noticed. ‘You were the damned sweetest thing on that island.’ He muttered, kiss dropped to the top her breast. Her hips squirmed underneath his, impatience painting itself across her face. ‘Besides me of course,’ she felt his grin as much as she heard it. Her reaction was nothing more than winding her hand through his hair and tugging as Owen wrapped his lips around a pert nipple.

She whimpered in complaint, the words shut up and fuck me too much for her mouth to say. Her brain shut off, surrendering to the touch of Owen Grady, hands and mouth. He was everywhere, all over her, even in her mind, but not quite where she wanted him most.

He seemed to have relieved her nonverbal message of need. His hand strayed from kneading at her skin - far more haphazardly than earlier - to position himself against her wet folds slowly bracing himself before he pushed inside.

They sighed, just out of unison, the noise caught in Claire’s throat for a second longer. She let him set the tempo, his hips rocking against hers slowly, before the momentum built up. She rolled them, without any warning, grinning from ear to ear at the shocked expression on Owen’s face. ‘That’s better.’ She leant down to kiss his cheek, his lips, grin irreplaceable as she steadied her hands on his chest and confidently took charge of the rhythm. He held her hips, hands grasping tight but not controlling, knowing that mutual respect with Claire came with knowing the other could surrender, so she in turn could lay down respectable law. That didn’t stop him from meeting her, thrust for thrust, or finally flipping Claire onto her back once her legs started to shake.

He slowed his thrusts, trying for slow and gentle as he dropped delicate kisses to her cheeks, a loving one to her nose. She locked her eyes onto his, staring into green pools for a moment that felt like eternity, panting breath falling between them.

One hang dug fiercely into the cheek of his ass, suddenly, her hips encouraging something rough, fast. Owen complied without a second thought, his lips returning to the pulse point on her neck, her moan falling into her ear. Claire wrapped a hand around his fingers, leading his hand to her clit and encouraging his instincts.

It wasn’t long before she was cursing, her breath jagged, her grip tight. A steady line of _shit, shit, fuck_ , escaped her lips on breathy gasps, as her climax built and broke, the last ending on a long moan. Owen was behind her after another two thrusts, a grunt let out against her neck.

Claire hummed, her nails lightly grazing the skin on his back, as Owen settled himself on his stomach beside her. ‘What started that - my legs or the vanilla lotion?’ His chuckle was warm, the vibration rattling the bed, settling itself in her bones as Claire curled into his side, embracing the arm he wrapped around her hip.

He half shrugged in amusement. ‘A little of both.’


	29. #29 - MVP Grady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire finds cute childhood photos of Owen in a secluded corner of his bungalow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is more adult end of childhood, but it’s still memories. 
> 
> It’s not been confirmed if Owen has siblings, but as I worked on #9 (even though they weren’t brought up) Travis and Lorna have always been in my head. Travis being the father of Owen’s niece Olivia (who is adorable and I’ve only written about her in passing).

They were given 24 hours to return to Isla Nublar in order to collect their personal belongings. The stray dinosaurs had been subdued and returned to suitable confinement. Claire and Owen spent the first half of their day packing up Claire’s pristine apartment. They avoided the topic of Blue, his Beta, shot down by the new recruits for the ACU. Owen was trying hard not to blame them, Blue attacked, they had to shoot. He couldn’t sympathise if he kept talking about it. So, instead, they boxed linen and folded clothes, jammed her shoes into boxes and pretended that he did it delicately.

His bungalow was a mess when they reached it. Claire pushed at her sleeves, her hands on her hips, teeth biting at her bottom lip. She directed Owen to one corner of his bungalow, while she tackled the other. His whole life stacked up in that shack. Boxes of memories, family portraits, awards, commemorations. She packed and tidied his things, prioritising that of importance over small pieces of life’s junk. They still barely knew each other. Off the island for a whole month and semi glued to the other’s hip. They went so far as to share a hotel room, heated moments and needed release. They were still working on the personality aspect. Sorting through his life, determining what was junk and what wasn’t seemed incredibly personal. He had helped her, and so Claire in turn would help him back. Owen needed all the help he could get to make sure his things were boxed away and ready for the trucks at 6pm.

They worked steadily, Owen peeking over her shoulder making sure she wasn’t deeming his favourite things as junk. She shooed him away easily, small laugh on her lips. So much of his stuff was already in boxes, indicative of the navy man he was, not prepared to unpack everything, knowing that the next move was only on the horizon. The last box on the stack in front of her was weathered, old, well travelled, the logo of the moving company was one she didn’t recognise, easily outdated. The lid was open, half missing, torn and bent at the edges. It wasn’t a box that should have been sitting on the bottom of a three tall pile.

Claire couldn’t help herself from pulling back the already open tabs of the box. It’s content’s already half revealed. Inside sat a small gold trophy, delicately placed on top. _MVP 1989, Boys Under 12 Baseball, Owen Grady._ Claire grinned, little Owen playing team sport was almost unimaginable. The album, concealed under the trophy only proved to provide her with photographic evidence.

The pictures were a little grainy, the first somewhat hard to make out, every face unrecognisable in the team photography. She scanned their faces anyway before turning the page. Owen Grady, ten-years-old, grinned up at her from the page. Unmistakable green eyes, his skin still gold honey, his hair dirty blond. He was chubbier in the cheeks, and the stomach, if she was being honest, the little boy easily weighting a little more than average for his age group.

‘Hey,’ Owen’s voice jeered playfully from the kitchen behind her. ‘That doesn’t look like work to me!’ Grinning over her shoulder, Claire held up the photo album.

‘Just trying to get to know the little boy who owns all this crap.’ She watched his face widen, grin expanding in disbelief as he took long easy steps towards her. Owen nudged at her hip with his, asking for silent permission to lean against the same box she was perched on. ‘Look at that, ten-years-old, who would have thought.’ She poked a finger at his picture, grinning.

He had bulked up, that much had changed in twenty-six years. His lifestyle in the Navy taught him regime, consistency and persistence. Working with Velociraptor’s encouraged the same things. His eyes were still the same bright green, honest but guarded, even for a young age. His skin was a little darker, years on the decks of ships, working under the sun, gruelling hours of training with his girls in Central America. She wondered how much of his skin tone would lighten once they moved away, a home waiting for them in San Diego. It wasn’t exactly cold there, but it wasn’t as warm and bleary as this.

‘Big boned, my mom used to say.’ Owen grinned, flexing a bicep as Claire attempted to wrap her fingers around it. Noting his weight was still in proportion with his body, his build semi-beefy. ‘She loved feeding me, by god, she baked and I ate.’ He turned the pages much faster than she would have, not all pictures sports related, some others of Owen at different ages. He stopped on one in particular, clearly knowing the album by heart, despite it’s abandoned state on the bottom of a pile, in a crumbling box. ‘My 14th birthday, and this was just for family, not friends. That was worse. Mom’s right there.’ He tapped at the picture, pointing his mother out beside himself.

He was tall, incredibly so, soaring above his mother, a cubby woman, with her arm around his waist. The table in front of them, travelling the length of the picture, was covered in baked goods. Cakes and pies, savoury treats and sweet ones too. ‘She clearly looked after you well,’ Claire smiled, head dropping to his shoulder.

‘I was her eldest son, of course she did. She never quite fed Travis as much as me, he wasn’t ever really interested. Lorna was a sucker for Mom’s pies, that girl would tell any secret truth or lie to get herself a slice. She ratted out more people than you could count - everyone trusted Lorna with their secrets, Mom knew that, and she knew Lorna was a sucker for a good home baked pie.’ She couldn’t wipe away the grin. She knew Owen had family, knew at least, in passing of one sibling, but no particulars. And there he was, telling her all about his sister and her unfaithful tongue.

A photo fell from the back of the album, clipping against the floor as it landed roughly. Owen muttered something about it not belonging there as he picked it up, inspecting it closely. ‘This was just before my 20th birthday. I was due to report for duty the next morning.’ He handed her the photo. He was taller than the last image they focused on, so much so, almost at his full height now, if only a few inches shorter. His hair was thick and long, blond curls rampant across his head. Lora, only a young girl, likely twelve years old, clung to her brother’s waist in what looked to be their living room. Travis was only a little older than Lorna, standing stiff beside his brother’s side, expression refusing to crumble. No matter how hard he clearly tried, the upset was burning wildly in his eyes.

‘They love you.’ She touched their faces gently, thinking about herself and Karen at those ages, what they would have done with they were pulled apart. Karen couldn’t leave - she never had and never would. Eventually anger drove Claire away, strong enough to make the cut.

‘They did.’ Claire’s eyes snapped up, trying to read his expression, or at least his mournful tone of voice. She wanted to pry, to ask what happened, what pulled them all apart. She didn’t think it her place - not yet, anyway.

She changed the subject, hating the dense damp air that suddenly settled between them. ‘I can’t wait to see your baby pictures,’ she teased, pointing at his hair, ‘You must have been adorable’. Owen shrugged, grin biting at his lip.

‘Definitely.’ He agreed, ‘There’s more around here somewhere, but - we should probably get this all packed up,’ he checked his watch with a smooth flick of the wrist, ‘we’ve not got long left’. He was mostly right. Claire slipped the loose photo in between the first two pages, before she closed the album and tucked it back into it’s rightful box, along with Owen’s trophy. She closed the box over as best she could, reapplying a little new tape - not as much as the other boxes - before adding it to the top of her last pile.

‘Hey Owen,’ she called over to him, the man tossing books into a box that’ll end up being too heavy for either of them to carry. He hummed, looking up, eyes catching hers across the room. ‘I didn’t know you liked baseball, that was new.’ Everything was still new, every word, every confession. Each breath they took was new, exciting, small revelations of their lives. They hadn’t even started to share stories, only habits, eating, sleeping, nightmare routines. They were learning how to live with each other, function as two people operating one soul. She wanted to know him, this was the beginning.


	30. #30 - Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen finds Claire dancing to ‘Shake it Off’ by Taylor Swift in the kitchen when he comes home from work one day.   
> &   
> ANON: Claire surprises Owen with a cake she baked for his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to do something special to celebrate 30 prompts! But life is making me tired and I really had no time this week to work on a longer more detailed prompt. 
> 
> I would however like to acknowledge every single one of you who takes the time to read these, like the posts, reblog them, comment, tag hilarious silly things, message me personally, and leave kudos over on A03. I wouldn’t be doing these if it weren’t for you. AND for those of you who send in prompts!! You’re all amazing, I love you. *kisses*

‘Everything will be fine,’ she pushed at his shoulder, urging him out the door. ‘Go to work, I can hold down the fort.’ He had eyed her carefully, she was putting on a brave face, pushing down her panic in front of him. Claire alone with his - their - three-year-old niece was a disaster waiting to happen. 

Claire loved Olivia. Had since the day she met her. She just still hadn’t finished the hardwire on her maternal instinct. Olivia seemed to recognise that uncertainty and tested her beloved aunt. Owen was almost too scared to step in the front door when he was finally relinquished from his duties. There was no telling what would be found when he returned home. 

He could hear the music before he stepped up to the door, key nowhere near the lock. Delilah greeted him, when he stepped through the door, puppy enthusiastic, jumping at his heels as she tapped his legs with her head. He bent in half to greet her, scratching his fingers behind her ear. ‘Where are they, pup?’ He asked the animal over the blaring music. She blinked up at him with gold eyes, licking his hand in response. Despite Delilah’s useless assistance Owen moved on, toeing off his shoes. 

Taylor Swift crooned ‘Shake it Off’ as Claire with Olivia on her hip, bounced around the kitchen, singing along to the words. Owen stopped in the archway, watching them move, laugh slipping through his lips. His fiancee threw herself into it, toddler on her hip shrieking with delighted laughter. 

‘Uncle Owen!’ Olivia stopped, her arms and legs scrabbling free from Claire’s grasp to scurry across the kitchen island and finally jump into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tightly before reprimanding her for climbing across the counter. 

‘What’s this?’ He wiped at her cheek, a very convincing chocolate smear coating her warm skin. The little girl giggled, her cheeks flushing pink, head bowing slightly. 

‘Cake,’ she told him, pointing her finger at the chocolate cake sitting on the counter beside Claire’s hip. ‘’prise!’ She giggled, clapping her hands together before throwing them above her head. ‘I did the pink, Uncle Owen!’ The pink in question related to the sprinkles covering the cake. He cringed only slightly as he raised an eyebrow at Claire. 

‘I didn’t know we owned any of that stuff.’ 

‘Oh, we don’t.’ Claire laughed, ‘Someone insisted on going to the supermarket specifically for pink decorations’. 

‘You like it?’ Olivia asked, watching his face intently, blue eyes studying him. She was a good girl, most of the time, when she wasn’t pushing limits. Olivia would hardly be upset if he said no, but who was he to lie to her?

‘I love it, Livvy. You did a wonderful job.’ He wasn’t exactly lying. Owen kissed her cheek, squeezing her for a second time as she giggled, proud. 

‘Happy birthday!’ She squealed, jumping in his arms before he put her down, afraid he’d drop her. In the pandemonium of his brother coming back to the US for a funeral and the zoo opening a new exhibit he was supposed to be in charge in, Owen completely forgot his birthday was coming up. He looked to Claire, surprised, not sure if it was true. She mouthed ‘tomorrow’ as he thanked Olivia for her wishes. ‘Can we eat it now?’ She asked, batting her eyelashes at her uncle as she climbed up onto one of the bench chairs. 

‘Did Aunt Claire bake it?’ He asked, holding Olivia’s swaying chair steady as she got herself situated and then nodded. ‘Are you sure it’s not poison?’ He asked, laughing through his question. Olivia shook her head, attention split between both adults, as she begged her aunt for a teeny tiny slice. 

‘It’s yummy,’ Olivia offered, without even tasting it. Still trying her best to convince the adults who were minding her. 

They caved - well, Claire caved - giving into Olivia’s bright eyes. She kissed Owen’s cheek, wrapping her arms around his waist for a second, the first contact they’d had since he arrived home. She was exhausted, he could tell, Olivia tiring her out with no affect to the little girl whatsoever. She promised him quietly, another cake, a different one - definitely not pink. Owen grinned, he’d forgotten his own birthday, who was he to complain about the childish decorations on his cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House keeping: 
> 
> I have finished Uni for the year as of Friday (free 'til March - can I get a 'hell yeah'?). I'm hoping to start getting lots and lots of prompts done. I do still work Thursday - Sunday but without the added worry of studying we should be on easy street. 
> 
> And now, more than ever, my inbox is open for prompts/reminders that I haven't updated/and general inquiry.


	31. #31 - She Gets Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire brings up the whole ‘she gets me’ thing to Owen post JW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working on a few bigger prompts at the mo’, mainly the Life Unexpected AU and the fake relationship prompt. Which are, honestly, dragging me through the dirt. I also had to scrap an idea that had been done by someone else, which should free up some mind space. I’ll get back into the swing eventually.

‘What was that about?’ She asked quietly moonlight streaming over her features. Claire sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, hands wrapped around her ankles.

Owen hummed, scrubbing the last droplets of water from his hair. They were finally clean, less than 24 hours washed off their skin, one after the other. He let her go first, leaving Claire to twiddle her thumbs while he showered. They were waiting in limbo. Waiting for the next man to step up, take control of Masrani Global, and start bossing them around. The world held bated breath, waiting for the outcome of Jurassic World. But before then, it was quiet.

‘What was what about?’ He turned his back, folding the towel to leave it on the bathroom counter. Claire fidgeted.

‘Back at the raptor paddock, you said _“she gets me”_ ,’ Owen hummed again, nodding slightly. ‘I do get you, Owen.’ He raised a brow. It was a far reach and they both knew it. He chuckled a little, unaware of the hurt on her face. He was starting to regret sharing a room. It was one of the last left, it wasn’t as though they had a real choice, and he did trust her.

For survival. That’s why they were together. He knew more about Claire Dearing than he would like to admit, her tenacity and fire - they were qualities he adored. Qualities he knew, that were compatible with his own.

‘No one gets me, Claire. Even when they think they do, they don’t.’ He brushed it off. Wishing so desperately that he had a bag to shuffle through, instead of having to face her sorry expression. ‘The Raptors - my girls - I’d been with them for a long time,’ he sighed.

‘Since they hatched.’ Her voice was soft, like a little girl adding comment to her father’s bedtime story.

‘Developing a bond with them - that was more important than anything else. I threw myself into it. There was no need for human connection. Blue, being my beta, we had to connect. Once that happened she opened me like a book, in the best way that raptors can. She understood my behaviours almost as well as I understood hers. I’m not used to it - to people. They don’t like it when I read them.’

‘That’s a given,’ Claire scoffed, hand letting go of her ankle to fluff at her hair.

Owen sighed, ‘You and I, we started off on the wrong foot. We didn’t try to understand one another and that created walls. We set ourselves up to fail, with that one.’ Claire nodded, admitting to a high guard going into their date. ‘But, hey, we’re here now.’ He flopped down on the bed beside her, lying an inch too close to her crossed knees.

‘I want to know you,’ she whispered, watching him over her shoulder. Their time off the island had yet to surpass eight hours and she had already vowed to be more of a people person. Especially concerning Karen and the boys. Owen nodded. He had no choice. His skin would shed, his life on Isla Nublar over for the most part. In the least they were stuck sharing a hotel room for another week. They had to break through each other’s walls, tear apart the plaster and pull out the bricks. The incident had started for them, his kiss sending hairline fractures along her careful resolve. Their was no going back now, they were caved in, the only way out was to pull each other back, to strip down their emotions and start again.


	32. #32 - Life Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Life Unexpected AU  
> For those of you who don't know the show (like I didn't, and then got sucked in) pre much: Claire got pregnant at age 16 with Owen's baby. They went their seperate ways. The baby was put up for adoption. 15 years later, their daughter turns up on Owen's doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I sat down to start this I knew it was going to hit 6k. I'm 30 words off. But soooo close.  
> Also, if it's riddles with inconsistent mistakes (as I'm sure everything typically is with me) I definitely didn't do a copy-edit -- ten pages was TOO much. I also would like to go to bed, so I'm not homicidal at work again.

It smelt like animals. The air dry like dirt and tangy with manure. Tilly crinkled her nose, fending off a scowl as she checked the papers in her hand for the tenth time. The address provided was for a small bungalow on the zoo grounds, hidden away from public view, but within reach of the enclosures. It sounded exciting when she first heard, thrilling almost, to be able to live so close to the zoo - so close to the animals like that. The image didn’t live up to expectation.

Tilly stared up at the building in front of her, crumpled and old - in desperate need of simple upkeep. She hadn’t been picky before, she wasn’t really allowed, but this - this wasn’t what Tilly was expecting. Something about the address on Zoo Drive set her heart rate thumping like horses on race day, speeding down the track. She never knew what to anticipate, never thought anything more extravagant than normal. In fact, she’d given up all hope until a week ago.

‘Can I help you?’ A voice called out from behind her, feet crunching on the gravel. Tilly jumped, momentarily frightened. She turned with a soft smile, greeting the man who had spoken.

‘Um, yeah. I’m looking for Owen Grady?’ She squinted in the sunlight, hand coming up to shield her eyes. The man in front of her faltered, face falling slightly before he picked it back up.

‘You’re looking at him, kid.’ Tilly stopped, stuttered, she wasn’t a kid. ‘What’d you want?’ He was brash, the tone almost clipping. He looked tired, when she concentrated on his face, worn and weathered, green eyes seemingly grey.

She shook herself, uncoiling her fingers in an attempt to regain control of the situation as he breezed passed her. ‘I need him - you - to sign these papers for me.’ She almost wanted to stomp her foot. Throw a tantrum at the way he was treating her. If only to protect her sinking heart. Instead, Tilly followed him up onto the porch and to the front door.

‘Who is that?’ A man asked from inside, appearing beside Owen in the doorway, dark hair and glasses. Owen brushed her importance to the side, calling her a girl scout. A third voice called out from inside the bungalow, french accent clinging to the sounds of his words as he called out an order.

Tilly rolled her eyes, drawing on her frustration. ‘Not a girl scout,’ she corrected, ‘look, I really just need you to sign this for me’.

‘If you’re not a girl scout, then what do you want?’ She shook the papers in her hand, almost wanting to hit him with them.

She could hear the strain in her voice before she even managed to speak. ‘I need you to sign this, please.’ His ‘why?’ was defensive, guarded as he started at the folded collection of papers shaking in her hand. He was testing her strengths as she threw them at him, curious to see how important it was. There was no reason for a teenager to be loitering around his bungalow.

Tilly sighed, the breath heavy in her lungs. ‘I’m kind of comprised of half your gene pool,’ it was a whisper. Owen’s utterance of ‘what?’ told her that he had heard what she had said but didn’t quite understand her.

‘I’m your daughter.’

*

There was a heavy sinking feeling, weighing in his gut. He had pushed it aside for years, tried not to think about the sweet redhead who cried in the passenger seat of his father’s car. He thought about her sometimes, about the news she shared with him, about her decision concerning her unwanted teen pregnancy. It reached out to him on dark nights and lonely days. Sometimes he wondered where their child was, wondered if he could pluck them out of their lives just so he could hold them.

He agreed to her putting the baby up for adoption. That was the last of it, she didn’t speak to him again, he didn’t see her. Their lives parted forever. Until now. Until she, their child, was standing in front of him. Tilly. Her name was Matilda and she was fifteen years old. He kept scrubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to wipe her away - confused if she was real or not. She had his green eyes, and dark hair he couldn’t place.

Barry and Lowery, his housemates, sat on their shared couch staring in complete disbelief. The events unfolding almost unfathomable.

The papers in her hand had his name typed in black ink. All he had to do was sign them. That’s all she wanted. She promised to walk away after that, emancipation on her lips.

‘I need her name too. I, ah, I couldn’t find that one.’ Tilly spoke up, after Owen scribbled his signature, half dazed on his designated part of the form. She had haunted him for fifteen years, both the girl and her mother. He always wondered. And now he half knew.

‘What?’ He blinked at her, looking into eyes reminiscent of a mirror. His green eyes on a face that seemed as much like his as it did her mothers, their youthful expressions compressed into one.

Tilly sighed. ‘Fifteen years ago you got a girl pregnant, I need her name.’ Barry and Lowery were on the edge of their seats, gripping the fabric in anticipation. Lowery, in particular, had known Owen since high school, well, at least until Owen had to move.

Owen nodded, a sure steady nod. ‘Um, yeah. Sure. Her name was Claire Dearing.’ The room froze. Tilly’s eyes were wide, watching Owen’s face compelled to call him a liar. Claire Dearing couldn’t be her mother. She had no grounds to base her argument on. But she had admired that woman for years. Claire Dearing was singlehandedly taking over San Diego’s cooperate ladder, big businesses and small, Claire acted as a liaison between them all.

Five years ago Tilly was living with a woman who was big on business management. She had encouraged Tilly to do her school project on Claire, the same year the woman was named Business Woman of the Year. Masrani Global owned half of San Diego, and by omission Claire Dearing ran it.

Lowery was the first to let go of the silence, raising from his seat immediately. ‘You slept with Claire Dearing?!’ Owen cringed. They went to school together, the three of them. Lowery had a crush to end all crushes on quiet, sweet, smart-girl Claire.

Tilly shook her head, ‘No, you can’t be serious.’ Owen only nodded, ignoring Lowery’s outrage. ‘No, no, she - no.’ The girl stuttered, her head still moving from side to side. The woman who had been absent in her life couldn’t have been the one woman whose name was everywhere in Tilly’s life. Hell, when she had an interest in school she even admired Claire Dearing for her smarts.

‘I’m not wrong, kid, it’s not like I had a habit of impregnating teenage girls.’ Tilly only raised an eyebrow. ‘I, ah, I think I have her number around here somewhere.’ He split from the girl in front of him, racing over to the kitchen counter in hope to just distract himself. He did have her number, coincidentally, had had it for years. He was always so tempted to call her, to see how she was doing, to see if it was normal to miss a baby he never met. ‘That way you can call ahead. It’d probably be easier - she’s a busy woman.’ He prattled, tossing things about, lifting stacks of paper and putting them back down.

‘She’s got her direct extension on the Masrani website.’ Lowery spoke, phone raised in his hand.

Owen grinned. ’Even better,’ he took the phone from Lowery’s hand and tapped easily on the number. The phone rang in Owen’s ear, sending nervous shocks through his system.

‘ _Claire Dearing, speaking._ ’ Her voice was soft, a little rough around the edges, but mostly soft. ‘ _Hello?_ ’ She responded to his silence. ‘ _Look, I really haven’t got all day._ ’

‘Hi, Claire.’ He breathed her name, voice catching in his throat. How many times had he thought about doing this? ‘It’s, ah - it’s Owen Grady from high school. I really need to talk to you.’ He took a breath, holding back the bubble of nervous that had sent his heart racing, trying desperately to break out of his chest. When he listened for her response, he was greeted with the dial tone. ‘She hung up,’ he told the expectant pairs of eyes. Tilly dropped her shoulders, defeat pulling down at the corners of her mouth. ‘C’mon,’ he extended his arm, ‘Masrani Global HQ isn’t far from here, I’ll take you straight too her.’ At least they knew she was there. Tilly turned, letting Owen’s hand come into contact with her shoulder blade. His warm touch on her skin igniting the smallest bit of joy inside of her. Although he had abandoned the title, here was her father, helpfully lending a hand.

*

‘So, what kind of things are you into?’ Owen asked softly, starting the engine of his truck and setting them on the road. Tilly shrugged, head leaning against the window. Her hair had a red tinge to it in the sunlight, proving that the colour was lighter than he had initially thought. Her eyes too, what little of them he could see from beside her, were a mix between green and blue. ‘Taylor Swift, some I don’t know, other teen stuff - Twilight?’ Tilly scrunched up her nose, head shaking as she uttered her disgust.

‘What kind of person do you take me for?’ She teased.

Owen shrugged, eyes on the road. ’A fifteen-year-old girl. I don’t know. You tell me.’ He wanted to know so bad, every inquisitive question he had ever thought about his child suddenly rushing to the surface. Did she play sport? Did she like math? What did she consider her strengths and weaknesses? Was she loved? Did she ever wonder if her father loved her? He thought he did, even just sparring looks while he was driving. He loved her.

‘I guess, music is hard to put a finger on. I like a little bit of everything,’ she shrugged, ‘the good stuff.’ She started a list, building up from The Rolling Stones, to Nirvana, a few small female punk bands, and some artists he didn’t know. Her tastes sat heavily in the realm of classic rock with a little splash of punk. Like father, like daughter. With the classics, anyway. ‘What do you do at The Zoo?’ She asked, cutting herself off just as she started labelling some of her favourite films.

Owen grinned, ‘I train tigers. Well, I’m their keeper, we don’t focus too heavily on tricks.’ He flicked his eyes towards her, taking them off the road just for a second so he could catch her thrilled expression. Tilly sat beside him, mouth open, eyes wide.

‘No freakin’ way!’ She laughed. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool.’

Owen shrugged, ‘It’s kinda cool.’ It was his job, so long a piece of his identity that he didn’t realise the effect it had on other people. ‘Hey, um, if you want to - at some point, if you’re interested - I could introduce you to the cubs.’

Tilly’s screech almost hit that frequency only dogs could hear, her laughter twining around the sound. ‘“If I’m interested” who isn’t interested in tiger cubs?!’ That would be amazing, Owen!’ His name felt odd coming from her mouth, familiar but wrong. He pushed the feeling aside, listening as she turned up the radio, head bobbing along to the music.

*

She felt inadequate stepping into the Masrani Global foyer. Pristine walls and clean floors, the interior crisp white. She felt off amongst the greenery for decoration, her light blue jeans and vintage tee. Owen waltzed in, seemingly at home everywhere he went.

‘I need to speak to Claire Dearing, please.’ He smiled at the assistant sitting behind the reception desk. The girl smiled back, fluttering her eyelashes at the man in front of her. Did he have an appointment? ‘No, but I know she’s here. She’ll talk to me.’ The woman picked up the phone and dialled a number. She repeated his name into the receiver then promptly hung up.

‘She doesn’t want to see you, sorry.’ Her smile was condescending. Owen turned, catching sight of Tilly admiring the foyer’s art. He nodded to himself, the girl unaware.

‘Call her again.’ The receptionist hesitated. ‘Call her again.’ His voice was rough, stern, almost forceful. The woman did as he asked. She greeted her boss, before looking up at Owen, confused about what he wanted her to do. ‘Tell her - tell Claire Dearing that this concern’s her daughter.’ The receptionists eyes grew wide before she repeated his words. The phone was put back down.

‘She’ll be down in a minute.’ She shook slightly, unimpressed. Owen, however, was rocking on the balls of his feet, proud of himself for luring her out.

It wasn’t long before the sound of furious heels clacked against the foyer tile. The glass wall behind the reception desk revealed a redheaded woman, storming angrily towards him. ‘What the hell do you want?!’ Claire Dearing hissed as she passed through the door, eyes shooting daggers at the only man in the room. He recognised her, it wasn’t like he couldn’t, with her face in the paper all the time. But even then, it had been years since he had been face to face with Claire Dearing. He could still see the sixteen-year-old girl in her eyes. ‘Are you trying to ruin my career?!’ She grabbed his arm, pulling Owen out of the foyer and into the parking lot, Tilly following behind them, unnoticed.

‘Calm down,’ Owen pulled out of her grip, breaking away and setting distance between them.

Claire fumed, hands on her hips, foot tapping against the pavement. ‘You haven’t changed at all - impatient as ever. What? What is so important you had to harass me at work and tell my secrets to the bloody receptionist?!’ She watched him with steely blue eyes, unwavering as she stared him down. Owen shrugged, one hand finding his pocket, the other rising. She opened her mouth to make another comment, but he cut her off.

‘Claire - our daughter: Matilda.’ Owen introduced, his hand pointing to the girl behind the raging woman, standing with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, intimidated by the anger. Claire froze, mid turn, her shoulders settling, her face falling. Anger still bubbled in her chest, but something else took hold of it for a moment. She had heard people talk about mothers intuition that sensation of ‘just knowing’. She never believed in it. Never believed she could even have a maternal bone in her body. With her eyes on Matilda, she knew there were truths that she was only just uncovering. Old feelings awakening inside her chest.

Tilly shuffled under Claire’s scrutiny, her eyes falling to her shoes for a second. She lifted them again, realising, as though she hadn’t already known, that the woman in front of her held the missing half of her DNA. ‘Hi,’ Tilly stuttered out, waving a small hand at the still staring woman in front of her.

‘You, you have brown hair.’ Claire uttered, taking a step forward before she stopped herself, hand in midair. ‘How’d you find me? Not that - not that I didn’t want you to but, you were so small.’ Her hands fluttered at her sides, unsure of what to do, unsure if it was appropriate to reach out and touch the young woman she had given birth too. ‘I, oh my god, I knew you would grow. But.’ The tears welled in her eyes, one slipping free past her eyelashes and down Claire’s cheek. ‘How are you? Are you okay?’ Tilly nodded, her mouth opening to speak before Owen intercepted, leaning over her shoulder.

‘She has something for you to sign.’ Tilly startled, her hands reaching for her messenger bag and the papers inside. Claire stuttered slightly, looking from the girl to Owen as Tilly explained what she needed.

‘Emancipated? From who, your parents?’ Claire asked, eyes still flickering over the face of her fifteen-year-old daughter, never straying too far from her blue-green eyes.

Owen stepped in again, ‘From the foster care system, she’s never been adopted.’

Tilly shrugged it off, ‘It’s a long story, you really don’t want to hear it.’ She did, she wanted to know everything. She couldn’t ask, it wasn’t her place, the girl wanted to be responsible for herself.

She signed the papers easily, handing pen and paper back to the girl. ‘That’s it?’ She asked, mournful tone clinging to her words. She had given up her baby with barely a glance the first time, seeing her - Matilda, alive and well in front of her. Claire didn’t want to let go so easily.

Tilly shrugged, she still had to take the paperwork back to the social services office. Claire jumped on the opportunity to take her, work abandoned for the time being as she struggled to drag her eyes away from the young woman in front of her. Tilly hesitated, turning to Owen, almost to ask if it was okay. He nodded at her softy, small smile on his face. It was goodbye, but he didn’t want it to be.

‘You, ah, you know where I live if you still want to see those cubs.’ He told her, trying to fight back the plea in his voice. He wanted to see her again. Tilly nodded, agreeing easily, light in her eyes at the simple thought. She’d come find him. Hell, she already found him the first time, he didn’t need to be worried.

*

They sat silently in Claire’s car, Tilly offering the woman directions. She didn’t know what else to say to the woman who had given her up. ’I don’t understand, the social worker said she would have no problem placing you. That their were lists of parents out there.’ Claire tapped her hand against the steering wheel.

Tilly fidgeted in her seat, a little nervous now that she was alone with the woman. ’Well, I don’t know if you knew this or not. But, I was born with a heart problem, a hole. I spent three years on and off operating tables. It doesn’t really excite prospective parents. And by then, I was ‘too old’ for most prospective families.’ She didn’t look at Claire as she spoke, instead she watched the city pass by her window, counting the streets and the businesses as they rushed past. ‘You can drop me off here.’ She spoke, finger tapping against the window, lungs struggling for air.

‘No,’ Claire protested, ‘I’ll take you there.’ Tilly shook her head.

‘Please, just - please pull over.’ The car barely stopped before Tilly was stepping out of it without a goodbye. She ran, down the street and out of sight, certain Claire hadn’t followed her. Tilly stopped on a corner, her lungs heaving, desperate for air. She thought it would be easy, simple. All she had to do was get Owen and Claire to sign the papers. Matilda never thought meeting them would stop her heart and hold her breath. She never expected them to care, or to like them. When she thought about her birth parents, when she thought about meeting them, Tilly expected them to be bitter, mean, callous even. Owen fulfilled the criteria until he knew who she was, his whole face transformed, he watched her out the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn’t looking. And Claire, she was soft, suffocating Tilly with unspoken remorse.

She had made it fifteen years without parents. She didn’t need them. She didn’t want them.

*

She was ready for her trial, confident and prepared. Life was going to be easier from there. She would be emancipated, legally responsible for herself, not strangers or the foster care system.

Tilly didn’t notice Claire slip into the room behind her, nor Owen catch the other woman invading on the girl’s trial. Their quiet bickering remained quiet until the judge asked who would co-sign Matilda’s lease.

The girl stuttered, she hadn’t thought of that, or thought of getting a job prior to her hearing. She just wanted to be free of the adults who wanted to control her life. The chorus of semi familiar voices behind her, made Tilly jump, twirling on the spot. Owen and Claire where standing from their seats a little to her left, promising to co-sign a lease. Tilly glared at them both, mortified to find them there. She should have known better than to tell them the date of her hearing.

‘And, who are they?’ The judge asked, voice snapping Tilly back to the present moment. Her sixteenth birthday was tomorrow, she needed to get emancipated, this was her last chance before waiting another two years to finally fall out of the system.

She hesitated, somewhat aware of the implications if she named them. ‘They’re my birthparents.’ The judge turned her attention away, flicking through Matilda’s paperwork in front of her. Tilly spared another glance back at Owen and Claire, who were grinning at the judge, Claire’s elbow wedged into Owen’s rib. The judge called them out, questioning the validity of Owen’s job before she commended Claire for her well known position at Masrani Global. Each adult beamed, nodding when they were spoken to. ‘Wait,’ Tilly spoke, ‘I don’t understand, what’s going on here?’

The judge sighed, looking down at the young girl in front of her. ‘I am not granting you emancipation. You have no income, no permanent residence, you filed a fee waver in order to cover your court costs.’ She waited a beat, almost feeling Matilda’s shuttering breath, her heart shattering in her chest. ‘Now, Claire Dearing and Owen Grady are still legally your parents …’

‘Ah,’ Tilly started, ‘Actually, they’re not. I had them sign the papers.’ She thrust her hand out in front of her, fighting off the urge to run over and pull the papers out to prove the woman wrong.

The judge shook her head with a mournful look. ‘Those papers were not witnessed, nor were they notarised. So, unless anyone here has an objection, I am releasing you back into their temporary joint custody.’ She brought the gavel down. ‘This case is dismissed.’

Tilly flew from the small courtroom, escaping the building and fleeing down the steps before Owen caught her arm. She shrugged out of his grasp, ‘That was the complete opposite of getting emancipated!’ She yelled, ripping away from him.

‘You know,’ Owen turned to Claire, a few steps behind him. ‘This is your fault.’ He pointed a finger. Claire glared at him, incredulously, trying to bite back the words that were threatening to bubble over. ‘If you just let me sign the damn thing instead of jumping in, it would have been fine!’

Her laugh was bitter, laced with sixteen years worth of hatred. ‘Do you really want to go there, Owen? Because, if you had used a condom that hadn’t been lugged with you everywhere - on the off chance of getting lucky - for two years, we wouldn’t be here!’ She couldn’t let go of the anger pressing against her throat forcing words out she hadn’t quite thought of in a long time. Claire stopped, her eyes catching on Matilda a few steps away. She steadied her breathing, regaining control, Owen Grady was only another business agreement. ‘No, that’s no the point. The point is, we need to figure out exactly what it is that we’re going to do.’ Owen stared at her. ‘Like the living situation, for example.’  
Owen shrugged, ‘I live with two other guys, at a zoo. It took me three months to convince them we had to buy our own furniture and stop living off second hand dumps. I think a fifteen-year-old is going to be a bit of a stretch.’

Tilly piped in, rectifying her age as almost sixteen, while Claire rolled her eyes. ‘You’re unbelievable, you know that, right?’ Owen groaned, his hand wrapping around Claire’s arm to pull her away from Tilly.

‘I’m sorry, but which one of us has been trying to help Matilda from the beginning?’ He asked, frustrated with the woman in front of him. He was only trying to help the girl, he wanted to help her, he hadn’t been there for fifteen years, he wanted to start with something.

‘Yeah,’ Claire scoffed, sarcasm thick, ‘you’ve been so helpful!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Like that time you denied we slept together - that was a great time for everyone, Owen. Oh, that’s right, and then your picked up and moved to the other side of the country. Not only did you deny that she existed, but you fled!’ She wasn’t wrong. His father, a military man was offered a position on the west coast, the family moved accordingly. Owen was only sixteen, he didn’t exactly have a choice and he wasn’t about ready to tell his parents that he got a girl pregnant.

‘What did you want me to do Claire? Stay, propose, marry you? Because, last time I saw you, you didn’t exactly want a kid either.’ He hissed, aware of Tilly listening, cautious of what she might hear.

Claire struggled, hands knotted in fists beside her hips. ‘I didn’t want a lot of things when I was sixteen, okay. I didn’t want to take Algebra, I didn’t want my Mom to die, I didn’t want to have a crush on some meat head quarterback, who would -‘ Owen stopped her,

‘What meat head quarterback, me?’

‘No,’ Claire shook her head furiously, angry at the warm tears she could feel building in her eyes.

‘Because, the back of my Dad’s truck, that was a fluke. You said that was a fluke.’

‘It was a fluke, I was just a sucker for Chevrolet’s.’ She waved him off, trying not to reveal long dead feelings, their ghost still following her around.

‘Then why are you upset?’

‘Because this is what you do, Owen! You make me upset.’

‘Shut up!’ Tilly yelled, her stance copying Claire’s, not that either woman noticed, hands in fists at their sides. ‘So what, he let you down?! It’s not like you’ve never let anybody down before. I mean, did you ever consider keeping me?’ Because that’s what it was about, right there, in that moment; Tilly. They gave her up, and the only thing she wanted in her life now, was to be free. Then the judge gives her right back.

Claire stared at her, tracing the lines of her face with her eyes, calculating every inch of her daughter. Her daughter. She had delicate features, but she looked like Owen, darker hair, darker eyes, her skin only a few shades lighter. Where would she have been in her life if she had kept her, raised Matilda on her own at age sixteen? Not here, not where she was now. Could she have ever made that sacrifice? ‘No.’

Tilly threw her arms up, letting go of her clenched fists. ‘Forget about it!’ She shouted at them, trying away from the arguing adults. ‘I’m going back to foster care. The two of you - you can’t be parents. You need them.’

Claire took a step forward, three, four, her heels snapping against the pavement. ‘No, Tilly. Please - Matilda.’

The girl shouted over her shoulder, ‘You let me go once, it shouldn’t be too hard to do it again!’

*

He only offered to buy Claire a drink. How they made it back to his quiet home at the zoo, she couldn’t quiet recall. Matilda was gone, her angry words ringing in Claire’s ears, hissing hatred. Owen expected her to turn up, almost promised that she would. He, so far, had been wrong.

‘What are we going to do?’ Claire dropped her head to her hands, sitting on his sofa, feeling sorry for herself.

Owen shrugged, dropping to sit beside her. ‘Keep stalking her caseworker, maybe we can get her phone number?’ Claire groaned. ‘You’ve gotta stop blaming yourself, it was pretty much a joint effort.

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘I told my daughter that I never even considered keeping her.’ Owen hummed, leaving the air around them to vibrate. She probably shouldn’t have admitted that one, not the the fragile psyche of a teenage girl. ‘I should have lied.’

He shrugged, ‘It wasn’t just what you said.’

‘Oh, right,’ she nodded, ‘The fighting, and the blaming, and finding out her mother got deflowered in the back of a truck.’ The air evaporated.

‘Wait, what?!’ Claire rolled her eyes again, some people never changed. Although she hadn’t known Owen personally for very long, she knew his mind resided very much in the gutter of self pride. ‘Your first time was after prom?’

Her cheeks flushed, despite propriety she couldn’t help the slight giggle that formed in her throat, nor the response on her lips. ‘Technically it was during - we left early.’ The grin on her face deepened Owen’s smirk, making Claire’s cheeks glow. How had they gone from ripping at each others neck’s earlier in the day, to laughing over their sixteen-year-old selves?

Owen’s face sobered, eyes sincere. ‘Listen, Claire,’ he breathed, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, c’mon,’ she laughed with the flick of her hand, prepared to make a joke about his teenaged masculinity. His voice stopped her, words still flowing, tone serious.

‘Back then,’ Owen scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘Back then I was afraid I was going to mess up my life. I was going to mess up my life. I did. Dad got re-stationed and I happily fled. I should have called you or something.’

‘It wouldn’t have worked. I was so mad at you, mad at everyone really. You know,’ she laughed a little, ‘I wanted to storm your house, rant and rave, call you out in front of your parents, tell them I was pregnant.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ He grinned a little, amused at the fiery redhead who, even at sixteen, would have talked his parents into some form of liable deal.

Claire’s soft smile faltered, ‘My mom got worse.’ She shrugged. The other shoe in her life had dropped on that day. She didn’t have time to throw a tantrum on Owen’s front lawn, instead, she had to step up.

A minute passed between them, silence filling in the empty gaps in the room. Claire inhaled a shaky breath, lungs stuttering to hold it all in. ‘She has your eyes,’ Claire whispered, tilting her head to catch his gaze. ‘… Tilly. I always really liked your eyes.’ He stared at her with said green eyes, tracing her face with a look she hadn’t seen in a very long time.

She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly his hands where on her face, hers on his, their lips locked together. She was in his lap one second, then hoisted in the air the next. He had picked her up, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on the back of her thighs.

*

‘I can’t believe you!’ Claire hissed, hitting Owen with a pillow the next morning, shock horror coursing down her spine. He mumbled something back at her, oddly childish and cocky. You weren’t complaining last night. Not again, she told herself, she wouldn’t fall into his green eyed, honey skinned trap - not again. It had worked when she was sixteen, it wasn’t going to work now that she was thirty-one. Except, it did.

Claire climbed over him with a grunt. The realisation that she was wearing his shirt only seemed to make the steam fly out of her ears a little harder. She pulled it off, replacing it with her clothes from the day before, not without flicking the t-shirt at him in frustration.

‘Are you always like this?’ She stopped, halfway to his bedroom door only to glare at him. ‘Aren’t people supposed to chill out after they get laid?’

‘Don’t you - do you realise what we’ve done?!’ He nodded slowly before shaking his head under her scrutiny. ‘No, no, no, no. This,’ she waved her hand between them, ‘Can never ever happen again’. They had just been given a second chance with Tilly, their bickering having ruined it in a second flat. They couldn’t sleep together, their glasshouses would only shatter under the pressure. ‘Hell, this didn’t happen.’ She didn’t catch Owen’s laughing nod, too busy slipping out of his house to notice.

Stepping out the door, Claire tripped over something slightly heavy. ‘Claire?’ Tilly’s voice croaked up at her, the girl lying in a dry spot on Owen’s porch. She hissed, under her breath, undeniably caught. ‘What are you doing here?’ Tilly asked, rubbing at her eyes, gathering her bearings before the pieces fell together. ‘Did you sleep over? Oh my god, you slept with him, didn’t you?!’ The girl was giggling, curled up in a sleeping bag and rocking with laugher. ‘Don’t you people ever learn?’

Claire shook her head, ‘Have you been out here all night?’ She looked down at the girl, concern etched against her words. The last thing she ever expected of her daughter was sleeping on people’s doorsteps.

Tilly nodded slowly, her eyes watching the driveway instead of Claire. ‘I was waiting for Owen to wake up, you know - let me in.’ She shrugged, ‘Guess I should have waited until after my hearing to tell my foster mom to suck it.’

Claire flinched, ‘Is it really that bad?’ She asked, heart aching for the girl in front of her, for the hard decisions she had to make at such a young age - the both of them. Claire lowered herself to the ground, squishing herself between Tilly and a pot plant.

‘Worse.’ Tilly breathed, watching the grass glimmer with rain. ‘But, ah, hey, thanks for coming to the hearing.’ She shrugged, ‘That was nice, until it wasn’t’.

‘I’m sorry that you’ve have to go through all of this,’ Claire started, blue eyes tearing holes in the face of her young daughter. There was something to be recognised in each line, each curve and slope of her young face. Mementos of Owen, of herself. Long lost family members and combined heritage, it all sat there, comprised in the form of Matilda. Tilly waved her off, the same easy comment of, it’s not your fault. ‘It is.’ Claire breathed, eyes never moving from the long lashes on Tilly’s face. ‘Look, I know I should have been there for you. I mean, now that I know nobody else was … I should have been. If I could - If I could go back and make different choices, if I knew you were ill, I would. It wouldn’t have been easy. But, I would have tried to do what I could.’

‘She would have kicked my ass too,’ Owen added, causing both girls to jump. Pulling the fly screen open, he stepped out onto the porch. Claire smiled at him softly. They were both to blame for not being there, for making adult choices from teenage brains. ‘Now, whose up for some Grady family birthday pancakes?!’ He clapped, eyes on Tilly who seemed bewildered for a second before remembering; she was sixteen today.

She let Owen pull her up, his hand wrapped around her wrist before he assisted Claire and lead them both back into his home. ‘Can we go see the cubs later?’ Tilly asked, wide blue-green eyes staring up at him with hopeful expectation.

Owen was a goner, the girl already wrapped around his little finger. He grinned, ‘Anything for you, Till.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any love is appreciated this week.


	33. #33 - Birthday Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen surprises Claire for her birthday (which she doesn’t know he knows about). 
> 
> Pre Date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - I have a story for you. I can’t read - well, I can, but I choose not to actually acknowledge the words. There were two requested versions of this prompt a) post date and b) post incident. In my beautiful 4am haze, I read it wrong (idk how) and this is pre date. I actually kind of ended up liking it and wanted to post it anyway. The other two will be done - eventually.

‘It’s Claire’s birthday today - so, hopefully I’ll be out a little earlier than usual.’ Zara wished, phone pressed between her ear and shoulder. She was standing just outside Claire’s office, leaning on her desk, taking a personal call.

Owen stopped in his tracks. He was certain that he heard Zara right: Claire, and birthday in conjunction with one another. He hadn’t known Claire Dearing for very long, two months approximately, since their formal introductions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen her wandering the park on occasion, sticking her nose into the raptor paddock, curious as to what was going on. He let Claire have her distance, choosing not to approach her unless she approached him. He wasn’t there to make friends on the island, any hook-ups were certainly out of the question concerning InGen and Jurassic World staff. He couldn’t live the next - god knew how many years - having to see their faces on a possible daily basis.

Claire caught his eye as much as any redheaded woman dressed in white, jacket and all, could in Central America, in the middle of a dinosaur infested island. She stuck out like a sore thumb. He kind of loved it. He wanted to push her buttons, if only to see how she would react. Flustering Claire Dearing had become his new game, still a fledgling, he was committed none the less.

He bothered her for stupid, unnecessary reasons, sometimes to flirt outrageously, just to watch her cheeks flush pink, and her neck red. Other times he just wanted to watch her, listen, gather intel, learn her behaviour silently as she prattled on about the importance of the paper work he needed to make _top priority_. Sometimes he just wanted to hear her exasperated huff as he waltzed into her office looking for someone who wasn’t even remotely on her floor - or currently on the island at all for that matter. He’d given her a fake name once, just to see what she would do.

Knowing that it was her birthday, that very day, excited him a little. Power went to his head, Claire was relatively private. Her birthday would not be common knowledge to her staff. He turned on his heel, slipping out of the corridor before Zara could even realise he had been present. He walked down Main Street for a minute, trying to decide what to do with his newfound power. There was, of course, the thought to surprise her with a birthday dinner, guests: everyone. She would likely feed him to the T-Rex for that. It would be worth it though. The flush on her cheeks, the clenching of her hands. The frustrated little grunt she always managed to make, ever so quietly.

Owen shook his head. No. As great as he felt it would be, she most definitely wouldn’t be appreciative of it or him. He stopped in front of the island’s small bakery, a little shack really, offering sweet treats and delicious delights. His eyes caught sight of a single chocolate cupcake, vanilla icing, sprinkles, a tiny T-Rex edible sticker on top. Perfect. He paid, thanking the woman whose name badge read _‘Trish’_ for placing it in a small box.

His step was almost giddy as he traced back down the fifth floor hallway. He flashed a file toward’s Zara, the woman’s curious look trying to stop him before he approached her boss’s door. He was in, the door shut behind him before Zara could protest on his intrusion.

Claire looked up from her desk, fingers still tapping on the keys of her laptop, head tilted slightly at the sight of Owen leaning against her office door. ‘Can I help you, Mr Grady?’ Owen grinned, small cake box handing from his finger by the string. She watched him cautiously as he stepped towards her, arm out stretched.

He placed the box on her desk, grin etched into his cheeks. He nodded, encouraging Claire to reach for it. She did so with speculation, her eyes glued to his face as she reached for it blindly. They barely knew each other. He came in and out of her office on occasion, she visited the raptor paddock - all only on the hunt or hand over of his paperwork. He irritated her mostly, behind the flush of her cheeks and his sly jokes.

There was something underneath his cheesy jokes and half pick up lines, his reluctance to hand in paperwork on time, and the bright smile that warmed her insides. Claire Dearing couldn’t put her finger on Owen Grady, she didn’t think she wanted to, to be perfectly honest. At his most basic the man was a neanderthal, a little more civilised, and certainly easier on the eyes than the rest - but a neanderthal, none the less.

She tore her eyes away from Owen’s grinning face, his teeth biting on the inside of his cheek, trying to prevent the shit eating grin from spilling all over her desk. Claire huffed, the string was loose around the box, freeing her hands to open the lid. She did so slowly, expecting some gag jack-in-the-box, or those spring snakes. She hated surprises. She hated pranks. If he thought he could walk in there and pull a prank on her - on her birthday no less - Owen would have another thing coming for him.

It opened without a hitch, the lid lifting up and back slowly, as she squinted under the cardboard. Just as her eyes ascertained what was in front of her, Owen spoke, half on a whisper: ‘Happy Birthday.’ He was sitting in front of her now, occupying one of the chairs across from her place, expectant look on his face.

Claire sputtered, words caught in her throat, confusion chasing circles around her brain. ‘How - how did you know?’ She asked, head shooting up to look at him across her desk, his smile soft now, gentle, no longer facetious. Owen shrugged, claiming he just did, as he asked if she liked her cupcake. Claire rolled her eyes, thanking him for the sprinkles. Her cheeks were pink, a sign that he had flustered her. Her hands shook a little, her walls down. He’d seen Claire Dearing man conference rooms armed to the walls with male CEOs. She never flinched. Getting her alone, in her office, a cupcake all he had to offer - that had her fingers trembling as she held the treat between them.

‘I overheard Zara, on the phone.’ He told her honestly, hoping to settled whatever had been unnerved. Claire sighed a small ‘oh’, nodding her head as she accepted his words. ‘I just, ah, I just wanted to do something nice. ‘Cause, you know, it’s your birthday and all.’ Owen rubbed the back of his neck, fingers scratching through his hair. It was his turn to be uncertain, unnerved around her. But, then again, he expected that when Claire was around. It was simply the effect she had on him. ‘You’re probably missing your family.’

Claire shrugged, nodding her head a little. ‘I was just about to Skype my sister, actually.’ She pointed to the laptop in front of her, two fingers peeling at the pattypan around her cake.

Owen stood slowly, hands behind his back. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’ He excused turning to leave quietly.

‘Did you really come all the way over here to bring me a cupcake?’ Claire asked, voice soft. Owen shrugged. It wasn’t the truth, but he felt somehow it would mean a little more if he let her think otherwise.

‘And this too,’ He almost forgot about the manilla folder in his hand, his paperwork complete a couple of days early, just for her. He’d been thinking about her a little too much lately, clearly it was making Owen crazy. Especially if he had his paperwork done on time. He dropped the folder to her desk, smiling softly as she looked at it in surprise. ‘Happy Birthday, Claire.’ He told her again, stepping away from her desk and reaching the door. She told him he didn’t have to leave, suddenly feeling kindly to the raptor trainer, even offering to share the cupcake he bought her. He declined beyond his better judgement.

Owen stopped, hand on the door, her name on his lips. Claire looked up, radiant in the afternoon sun, small little smile tickling her cheeks. That wasn’t always there, today he had been the cause of its presence. ‘I’d really like to take you to dinner sometime.’ The words were out before he could swallow them back down. Inner monologue thrashing him for saying them but declining her invitation to stay.

Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip before her smile grew warm, dimples pooling in her pale cheeks. ‘I’d like that, Owen.’ Her use of his name was not lost on the man, his heard rate soaring at the loss of formality. He’d opened his mouth, lazy smile gripping at his skin, ready to reply - to organise a day, a time when Zara opened the door, squeezing in front of him.

‘Karen’s on line one, said her connection wasn’t working and she couldn’t get through.’ Claire thanked her softly, watching as the British woman eyed Owen cautiously before she stepped back out the door.

Owen stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll come find you when you’re less busy.’ He told her, pulling the door open, ready to leave.

‘Tomorrow’s fine, around seven?’ He nodded easily, grin stuck to his face as Claire reached for her phone, pressing the extension her sister was likely impatiently waiting on. Owen slipped out before she could give him one last shy smile, excitement bubbling in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry these are coming out slowly, and poor quality. I'm having a rough time at work. My free time is spent wallowing - useful, I know.


	34. #34 - Let the Dust Settle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen finds Claire with a bottle of tequila when everything settles down

Surprisingly, the bar was quiet, patrons idling in small numbers even for the nine o’clock hour. He hardly thought to look for her there. He had wandered down there for himself, looking to throw back a drink hard enough to burn his throat, and numb the roaring in his brain.

Claire was seated at the bar, the only one there as the bartender, a young woman, wiped down the counter around her. She sat, back arched forward, elbows on the bar, head hanging between her hands. The glasses that sat scattered around her hunched form, clinked as the bartender picked them up, clearing away long gone drinks in attempt to lighten her work load for the closing hour.

Owen approached her slowly, steps even, treating her like a spooked animal more than a broken human being. The bar stool squeaked, feet raking across the floor as he pulled it back as gently as he could. Claire’s head snapped up, eyes alert, frightened. She relaxed when she registered who he was, her body relaxed, dropped back to its slumped position.

‘Nice choice,’ Owen commented, tapping his forefinger against the bottle of tequila sitting just under her ducked head. ‘Nightmares?’ Claire shook her head.

‘I quit.’ Her voice was a whisper, shaky and rough. He slid the bottle out from in front of her, signalling to the bartender for an empty glass. His chortle was short, a small snort rather than a laugh, as he poured himself a glass from her bottle.

‘We all quit, Claire. Our lives, and this includes everyone at the park, have turned into a circus.’ She shook her head, fingers rubbing at her temple. She moved, one hand letting go of her head to reclaim the bottle of tequila he had pinched from her. Claire didn’t bother with a glass, instead she threw her head back and swallowed as much as she could tolerate.

‘I quit my job. I can’t work for Masrani Global, not after that.’ The hand holding the bottle did a loop in the air circling the conference room that sat above their heads and everything else attached to it. She’d spent the whole day in that room, answering the same question in different ways. _How exactly did this happen?_ At some point her mind wandered, threatening to snap. Claire wanted to slam her hands down on the table and demand an answer for their thoughts. _Who_ actually thought this park would work? She had her doubts in the beginning, but was assured the T-Rex was going to be their only carnivorous species. The park grew from there. A new dinosaur added when park numbers dwindled below average. It was a marketing scheme, one she was comfortable with. Clearly, she had become too trusting with the genetics lab.

She was the only one capable of answering their questions. Lowery was called in, a little useful, Vivian too. But it was Claire Dearing, Senior Assets Manager, Masrani’s right hand man at Jurassic World who had to have all the answers. She wished Simon was there, to tell his part. Henry Wu, too. He was the one who created the damn _Indominus Rex_. She was the only one left standing in that room, the only one who could answer for those who played God, the only one who could accept the toll of deaths and injuries.

Claire did what she had to do. She stood in front of the small gathering of Masrani directors, her eyes unable to settle on Andrew Masrani. She felt remorse for the man who lost his tycoon brother, and biggest profit. She tried to explain the hard decision. Keep the twenty thousand guests on the island, unawares of the escaped disaster slowly heading their way. Or tell them, letting them flee and never return. She couldn’t have known the I-Rex would cause so much damage. She should have, but no one knew how ill equipped they were for the animal until it was too late.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Owen snorted, cringing as the drink slid down his throat. She hadn’t noticed that about him before, the chortle, or snort, the heavy exhale or low whistle. He responded in sounds more than he did words. Accustomed so a somewhat nonverbal language than proper linguistics.

Claire sighed, the vision of powerful men shooting her down for something that had a fifty-fifty change of falling to shit. She tried to save their park, tried to keep guests out of the loop in order to not affect profits. If Masrani had kept his cool, settled with what they had. If the public weren’t so power hungry for bigger, scarier, _more teeth_. They wouldn’t have been there. Their ACU teams would have been safe. Their _guests_ would have made it out with happy memories, not physical scars. ‘All I’m ever going to be is the woman who put twenty thousand lives at risk.’

He shrugged, ’You’re going to be that regardless of if you leave or if they fire you’. Claire only wobbled on her barstool, faint, almost pathetic hum vibrating from her chest. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want to do?’ She shrugged weakly.

Claire’s eyes were red when she look at him, wide and puffy, brimming with tears. ‘I just,’ she stopped, stuttering on a half finished breath. ‘I don’t know. I just need the dust to settle, I need things to go back to normal.’

He laughed softly at their situation, ‘Normal is subjective, Claire. And right now, for you, for me, for everyone involved at the park; ‘normal’ is being redefined. This media circus is never going to end, the blame is never going to end. There’s going to be a one year anniversary, a five year anniversary. Hell, who knows, maybe someone’s gonna think it’ll be a brilliant idea to reopen the park in three years. It’s just going to chase itself in circles, like a damn dog after it’s tail. And every god damn time, you’re going to be pulled into it. We’re never getting off this ride.’

She made a noise halfway between a groan and a moan, the bottle raising to her lips for a third time. Owen was right. They were only going to keep circling back, and every time they did her phone would ring off the hook, her inbox would flood with messages, every news room would whisper her name. Normal wasn’t coming back, regardless of if she moved on with her life, found a new job, settled down - maybe had a kid, like Karen was so persistent would happen - she’d only ever be ripped right back into the travesty of Jurassic World all over again.

‘There was no avoiding this, was there?’ She asked quietly, staring at the bottle in her hand, watching the others on the back wall of the bar. Owen shook his head, taking the bottle from her.

‘It was a theme park full of living and breathing dinosaurs - to be honest, we all had it coming.’ He watched her for a second, noting the slight sunburn on her cheeks and the hollow look in her eyes as she nodded slowly. ‘You know, even after all that, I never expected to see you drinking tequila.’ Owen tried for a joke, hoping to at least catch a spark of a smile on her face. He got what he wanted, the smile only small and fleeting as she let out a strangled laugh.

‘It felt appropriate,’ She traipsed through the jungle half delirious for a strong drink. It helped her forget in college, it could help her forget in the middle of their death trap of an island. It could, hopefully, help her forget afterwards. She laughed at her thoughts for a second, before sharing them, marvelling completely at where they were. ‘This is already going better than our first date, and the circumstances are completely morbid.’

Owen grinned. Their disaster of a date never failed to settle between them. They couldn’t help themselves from bringing it up, great chemistry confused by alpha personalities. He’d accepted that they weren’t meant to be. She had her lists. He had his laid back attire. He couldn’t help the attraction, the absolute _burn_ inside of him that screamed for her attention, that begged to flirt with her far more than he should have. The voice that nipped at the back of his brain, begging for corny innuendo just to watch her cheeks flush. Somewhere in the jungle, standing beside a waterfall, her clothes pristine, her hair lethal, her shoes too _ridiculous_ , he’d fallen in love with her defiance. He’d fallen in love with _her_.

‘You never fail to surprise me,’ he whispered, half in awe. This wasn’t the Claire Dearing that he knew. She was frail and fractured, promising to break apart in a second. He wasn’t scared. This was momentary, hell had broken loose, she would mend her broken pieces.

‘Together, for survival - right?’ She asked, he nodded, ‘You’ve got to learn to adapt, Soldier’.

‘Oh, is that so, Red?’ Owen was ready to accept whatever she was prepared to throw at him. She nodded, a small smile gracing her lips, her eyes a little lighter as she confirmed, _that is definitely so._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnd my internet is down - again - joy! 
> 
> I'm feeling really blasé towards these things at the moment, and I don't know why but I'm still working through them ... slowly.


	35. #35 - It Started with a Fake Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Fake Relationship clawen  
> &  
> ANON: Claire asking Owen to pretend to be her date to a wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, these could be two seperate prompts. But, I already had this plan for the first one, when a month later I received the second prompt. So, together they go. 
> 
> This title is atrocious. I need to learn how to title better. But, it’s 3am and I am calling this piece done at well over 4,000 words. (I knew it would be long, I didn’t think it would be that long).

She shifted her weight between her feet nervously, wrists shaking anxious energy from her hands. Her lips moved around words of encouragement, voice not breaking them aloud. She clenched her fists, nodded her head, and took a step closer to the door in front of her. She couldn’t tell if it was the Central American heat that was causing her skin to glimmer with sweat, or if she had worked herself up enough standing in front of the small portable building that offered as an office/break room for those working on the Raptor research team. The door opened before she had the chance to reach for it.

‘Claire!’ Owen Grady grinned down at her, already taller in height, accentuated by the small step up into the building. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ He asked, confused towards the slightly fidgeting woman in front of him. Claire Dearing did not fidget. Owen took a step back when she nodded cautiously, reentering the building, woman in tow. ‘What’s up?’ He was casual, shoulders shrugging as he leant against a desk.

‘I need a date’. Claire rolled her eyes at his hopeful expression, green eyes wide, sly smile ticking across his lips.

She held back the want to slap the grin off his face, more particularly, when he spoke. ‘A second date?’

Claire responded faster than the speeding ambulance could possibly be in order to recover his corpse. ‘No, oh no - hell no.’ Owen chuckled, mocking hurt with his hand on his chest. ‘Just a pretend date would do, someone to accompany me to a family wedding. You’re a far more interesting option to my family than Lowery … who, really, was my only other option. Actually,’ She started to ramble, ‘he’d probably suffice - I’d kill him before the weekend was through.’

‘Claire?’ Owen called into her subconscious ramblings, pulling the woman away from them with his hands on her shoulders. ‘Relax.’ He waited a second, watched her catch her breath, slightly startled. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘You will?’ She blinked up at him.

Owen shrugged, ‘yeah, sure. I don’t know what I’m signing up for but - I’ll do it.’ She had already responded with the plus one to her cousin’s wedding. Already fought tooth and nail with Abigail for her guest, certain - that time - that he would stick around long enough. When he bailed, and she should have seen it coming, Claire couldn’t find the courage to face her fiery cousin and recall her guest. The only other option was to find a replacement.

Owen was the only other male individual on the island she had conversations with outside of work. Their date was strained, painful, waiting to implode. They got out of it alive. Frustrated and annoyed, but free from battle scars. She had hoped they were amicable enough to make it through a weekend with her family, playing pretend at a loosely committed couple. She only had to fool her family, her cousins, friends, people who knew her for longer than her memories had started. All she had to do was make sure he didn’t wear board shorts to a formal occasion.

*

‘You can quit staring, I’m going to be here all day,’ Owen grinned, tapping the edge of Claire’s wide brimmed hat. She blinked, once, twice before shaking her head to clear her thoughts. She had been staring, caught in the act, too. He was befuddling her. Her mind short wiring next to the man wearing a crisp white linen shirt and navy three-quarter length shorts. They had come to a compromise on appropriate attire, Owen bemoaning the setting of her cousin’s beach wedding. Maybe it was the Florida heat, but, Owen Grady had suddenly become appealing to Claire in his formal - still weather appropriate - attire.

She blamed the blush on the warm sun, promising that her skin brunt at the simple thought of UV rays. Owen rolled his eyes at her first complaint, reminding the redhead that she worked on a tropical island.

Claire faltered when Owen reached for her purse, taking the small bag from her hands before she could properly shut the car door. She stared at him, mouth slightly open, eyes confused. ‘You want them to think we’re dating right, committed, serious?’ Claire nodded slowly, watching as he wound the long, thin arm strap around his hand. ‘Let me carry your tiny bag.’

This was a bad idea.

It was too late to go back. She couldn’t exactly send him back to the island on some false excuse. They were there, her family just over the sand dunes, expectant eyes waiting to meet Claire’s date. She had no doubt he would pull it off, there wasn’t an inch of awkward about Owen, especially not around her. She just didn’t think she would make it to the reception if he kept up the act.

He’d been completely normal on their flight from Costa Rica to Orlando. If not armed with the excuse to push the buttons of her childhood. Claire felt it completely necessary to fill her in on his family, her mother, her sister, her young nephews. Her cousin, Abigail, whose wedding it was. The oddball family members it was best to avoid, or in the least keep up small conversation. Those she loved, those she loathed. He listened, far better than he ever had on the island, and even offered his own stories in return.

Claire could hear the light chatter of excited family, the soft sound of poor musicians who’d been paid to play in the sand, mixing with their laughter. The voices grew louder, Claire more focused on the sandy path and her wedged heels than what was to come. Owen wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly into his side. She stumbled, thrown off for a second, breath caught in her throat. _It's just an act_ , she had to remind herself. Just an at to keep her family off her back, to keep away Abigail’s snide remarks.

‘Claire!’ A voice called out, tearing Claire’s eyes from Owen’s softly smiling face to that of her waving sister. She grinned, repeating her name to Owen, preparing him before they got close enough to greet her. Owen broke away from Claire, much to her disappointment as Karen drew close enough to touch. ‘Oh my god, you look beautiful,’ Karen smiled, hands ghosting down her sister’s arms, admiring the light blue dress, that sat off her sister’s shoulders. ‘As always,’ Karen laughed, fingers poking at the bodice of Claire’s dress, where dark blue flowers burst out from a cluster. ‘And you must be Owen.’ Karen grinned, accepting the hand he extended. Claire watched her sister fault a little, as she had done on too many occasions at Owen’s bright smile. ‘You didn’t say he was hot.’ Karen hissed, all too loudly as she hugged her sister a second time.

For the second time in ten minutes, Claire felt her cheeks burn. She was thankful for the hat, and the hopeful shadow it cast over her face. Owen laughed, a deep belly chuckle, as his hand slid around her waist again, fingers resting gently - if not possessively - on her hip. She didn’t hear what he said in response to her sister, her ears attuned to the thudding of her heartbeat, and the rush of her blood moving too fast. She didn’t expect him to drop a kiss to her cheek, his head ducking under the brim of her hat for the affectionate action. Claire didn’t know what caused it, but she could read the look on her sister’s face. He was too good at this. Even Karen, who’d been skeptical of this ‘boyfriend’ she’d never heard of, had fallen for Owen’s charms.

Her nephew’s were next. Gray seeking out his mother in an attempt to exhale his boredom. Any thought of exasperation died on his tongue when Claire introduced him to Owen. _He works with the Velociraptor’s at the park_. Words flew from Gray’s mouth in seconds, questions, statistics, things little boys couldn’t even pronounce. He was curious about the dinosaurs, already informed about most others, but _Velociraptors_ they were _dangerous, thrilling_ , Owen worked with them up close. Zach was nowhere to be seen, Karen explaining that he was probably a little further down the beach sulking about ruining a perfectly good day.

They were ushered to their seats, the band preparing their instruments for the bridal waltz as friendly chatter turned to hushed excitement and high strung emotion. Claire caught the eye of her mother who only grinned, nodding in Owen’s direction silently. He didn’t notice, head bowed so he could listen attentively to Gray’s questioning whispers. His hand was on her knee, holding lightly to two of her fingers, thumb absently stroking a line between their hands and the edge of her dress.

He was constantly touching her, it hadn’t surpassed an hour, and yet his hand had never strayed from her for any longer than five minutes. She didn’t mind. She should have, but she _really_ didn’t. Claire couldn’t exactly ask him to stop, she’d essentially recruited him for the weekend for the sole purpose of pretending to be her boyfriend. Of course he was going to touch her. She just didn’t know how much of it was Owen and how much of it was her pretend date. Surely he hadn’t realised his thumb was tracing lines on her skin, creating goosebumps under the warm sun.

They stood, when Abigail stepped on the beach, just off the path they’d come down themselves. His hand left hers for a second, returning once they sat again, reclaiming it’s place on her knee.

*

The reception was worse. Claire should have expected it. Her family loved him, extended or otherwise. That was all she should have cared about, that her plan had worked, even Abigail seemed impressed.

He held her hand, or kept an arm around her waist. He kissed her on the cheek when her family doted on her, sharing stories from her childhood, or complimenting them as a couple. He kissed her as an expression of pride and she couldn’t help but feel it.

Claire swayed, watching her cousin share her first dance with her new husband. The weather was still warm, the sun starting to set. The marquee’s on the beach kept them comfortable, all guests abandoning their shoes against the sand. She was absently aware of Owen’s hands on her hips, the man standing behind her, watching just as she was. He tugged her out onto the allocated dance floor when the bridal waltz drew to an end.

She squeaked half in shock, half in protest. His name fell on a surprised sigh as he immediately started to lead her in the next waltz. She resisted him at first, trying to pull away in embarrassment before she gave in, letting Owen lead her in circles around the floor, couple by couple joining them. ‘I didn’t know you could dance,’ Claire laughed, marvelling at the tent spinning around them. Owen shrugged, adding something about debutante balls, and doing them twice.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Claire Dearing.’ He grinned, pinning it all on their train wreck of a first date. She was suddenly an open book to him now, her life, her childhood, her mother and her sister. They were all accessible to him, she had essentially handed it all over. Claire felt her spine stiffen in fear, she never relinquished that much control. She never let someone into her life that easily. And there he was, waltzing her around the dance floor at her cousin’s wedding. Something in her settled, the realisation that Owen’s intentions were not malicious calmed her precautionary nerves.

The song came to a slow end, Owen’s steps soft, her body following his willingly, feet in line, hand in his. She pulled away from him, away from the gathering of dancing family members, to throw herself into a chair. Her chest rose and fell, laughter on her lips as she tried to catch her breath. She never expected to have fun, to be waltzed around the room, by a man who not only knew what he was doing but could genuinely make her heart feel like it would implode. Her hand sat on her chest, feeling her heart beat erratically. She didn’t expect it, she should have, looking up at Owen’s deep green eyes. He leant down, slowly, with no hesitation, one hand on the table next to her, the other on the back of her chair. His lips were on hers in a second, caught in a gentle, affectionate kiss.

Claire blinked, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. She couldn’t quite form words once Owen pulled away, his smile dazzling, his eyes bright. ‘Your sister is watching us,’ he excused, tilting his head slightly to the left, where indeed Karen had an eye on them.

‘You better do it again,’ she whispered, her fingers looping around his hand on the back of her chair. ‘She won’t believe it otherwise.’ Owen grinned, sensing a lie as he watched the blush rise on Claire’s cheeks. She moved first, a hand finding the back of his next, the other - that had been holding his hand - took hold of the lapel on his shirt. Claire caught Owen’s bottom lip between hers, half lifting herself from the seat as she rose to meet him. He grumbled against her lips, causing a chuckle to bubble in her throat.

‘Look at you love birds,’ Karen teased, watching her sister carefully as she approached. Claire laughed, using Owen to pull herself to her feet. This time it was her turn to wrap an arm around his waist, her body leaning into his far more than she should have let it.

She’d warmed to him, fuzzy feelings in her chest flapping like over eager butterflies. Owen Grady put a spell on her, with his green eyes and his charming smile, the way he dressed that night and his hands at her side. He won over her family with a dimple in his cheek, proving to all of them that there was someone out there for Claire. What she had to realise, was that he was probably it. The one, infuriatingly. There was something poison on Isla Nublar, driving them both to their extremes. He teased her until her back stiffened, she reared back, threw order and itinerary in his face. Their differences made them seemingly incompatible. Florida was proving something different. Her family had loosened the laces against her ribs, allowed her to breath. He was just there for the ride, for support, so she didn’t have to deal with their critical onslaught.

‘I was thinking,’ Karen started. ‘Maybe it would be nice if they boys could come see you next year, visit the park, spend some time with their aunt?’ Owen’s hand squeezed her hip, encouraging a confirmation. In a short amount of hours he had learnt about her stance with her family, the divide that kept them distant. Karen’s offer for Claire to see Zach and Gray at some point in the near future of their lives was a big step.

‘I’d really like that,’ Claire told her sister. She didn’t find the words forced, instead sincere. She wanted to get to know her nephew’s, especially after seeing how much they had grown, how much they had _changed_. Karen half mentioned something about Gray’s growing fascination with the Velociraptor’s, immediately including Owen in the visitation plan. Claire wanted to stop, to over analyse but she couldn’t find a sane reason to care, not when Owen was so warm beside her.

Scott called Karen away, his hand extended, intending to dance with his wife, as every other couple was doing. Owen asked if she wanted to join them, reminding subtly that they were there to play a part. Claire shook her head, fingers twining around his larger hand as she pulled him away from the crowed and out of the marquee. He followed her quietly out to the waters edge, listening to the soft rumble of the ocean, and the quieting noises of the wedding party. Claire stopped where the sand grew wet, water chasing it and out with the current to kiss their toes gracefully.

She sighed, her shoulders falling, resetting her already perfect posture. Owen watched her face in the setting sun, marvelling at the fire of her hair, vibrant in the orange rays of an ending evening. ‘I need you to do something.’ Owen was listening, ready to lay his life on the line for her as soon as she asked for it.

‘Anything,’ he whispered. Owen was sure that he would do anything she asked. He was infatuated to the point of insanity. Claire’s asking of him to be a date to her cousins wedding seemed like a splendid idea to begin with, and it was. But, having the ability to touch her, his hand on her waist, or entwined with her fingers. Being allowed to invade her personal space on the proviso that he was her boyfriend, to kiss her cheek because he wanted to. To kiss her. It had all gone to his head. He was letting emotion seep from his pores, rather than play the part she had so nervously asked of him. Claire trusted him to stick to the plan.

Her eyes scattered away from his, watching the last rays of the sun threaten to dip beyond the ocean, rising for someone else, somewhere, some day. ‘I need you to kiss me again,’ she whispered, ‘because you want to, not because someone is watching.’ Her eyes fluttered back to his. She needed to know if it was real or not. If he was kissing her because she gave him a role to fill, or if he couldn’t help himself. He could feel the nervous energy vibrate off her in waved, her fingers twitching by her sides, her feet ready to turn and run.

They were on the beach alone, everyone in the marquee celebrating now that the sun was going away. Owen swallowed hard, his tongue tracing his lips, his eyes searching the plains of her face. He waited a beat, two, three. He tore his gaze from her eyes to her lips, staring at them half open, almost shaking with her scared breath.

He snapped, one hand finding her waist, the other sliding into her hair as he crashed his lips down onto hers. He kissed her with everything he had, lips, teeth and tongue, his fingers curling into her hip. The hand in her hair was gentle, trying not to pull out pins or disturb the elegant up-do. He was a contradiction. Hard and fast, rough, teeth biting, but he was soft, gentle, and dare she say; loving.

The kiss was real, the emotion raw. It was harder than how they had kissed in the marquee, but the intention was there. A gasp escaped her throat, followed by a long moan as her hands clutched onto him desperately. Something bubbled in her chest, wiggling in beside the affection she had garnered from him throughout the day. It nudged at her gut. Their date had failed tremendously but here he was, months later, warm and solid against her, her hands on his shoulders, holding on for dear life, thumbs curled around his collar.

Claire pulled away, lung burning, skin flushed, cheeks aching from the smile on her face. ‘That,’ she tried to gulp down a hefty breath. ‘Where was that on our date?’ Owen laughed, the sound ripping across the water, sending goosebumps up her arms. She would have killed him, had he tried to kiss her on their date. Claire disagreed, dimple in her cheeks, their date would have ended differently had he kissed her like that. ‘It’s rude to leave a wedding early, isn’t it?’ She asked, cheeks turning pink, slight girlish giggle passing her lips.

‘Let’s find out,’ Owen kissed her again, briefly, before he pulled away, hand in hers as he lead them back to the marquee. He slipped in quietly to collect their shoes and her bag. Karen caught him, smiling knowingly as he passed her, sheepish look on his face.

Claire had plans for a family lunch the following day, if any one missed her throughout the rest of the evening, they’d be able to see her in the morning. She kissed his cheek sweetly when he returned her shoes, admitting that Karen had noticed their sneaky exit with nothing but a smile. Claire only rolled her eyes, hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she slipped her shoes back on.

‘They all think we’re dating anyway, what are they going to say? What is Karen going to say?’ She prattled on about salacious sex scandals and her families dismay jokingly, knowing a word would not be said directly. Karen would certainly bring it up at lunch, but only that they disappeared, not hinting at what they were doing. ‘Honestly,’ She stumbled slightly over the uneven footpath, their rental car in sight. ‘If I want to sneak off to have sex with my _boyfriend_ , I should be allowed.’ She was a few steps ahead of him, until she said ‘boyfriend’ then Owen was behind her in a second, hands on her hips, teeth clashing as he kissed her furiously. He didn’t know if it was the word, or her plan. Something inside of him was spurred on to push her against the car, his hips anchored to hers. ‘Hotel.’ Claire chided, pulling herself away from Owen as he whined.

Owen kept his hand locked around her thigh as she drove, his tight almost painful, certain enough to leave a bruise if they had to travel any further.

They practically crashed into her hotel room, Owen leading Claire blindly. ‘God, you’re beautiful.’ He whispered, hands tracing the curve of her ribs, down to the slope of her hips, her dress billowing around her waist, in soft, _poofy_ , fabric. ‘Did I tell you that?’ He asked, dropping to his knees, staring up at her, her dress still perfect, her face flushed, hair starting to fall apart. He had, she grinned. Meeting in the foyer of the hotel, he’d told her how beautiful she looked, his hand desperate to dart out and touch her, he refrained until they got to the beach, her family almost in their midsts.

‘I’m not good at this,’ Claire whispered back, after a moment, Owen’s lips trailing a sweet line of kisses up her leg and under the hem of her dress. ‘At relationships.’ She couldn’t even manage a date with him - because she had tried to _manage_ it. Today could possibly have been proof that there was chance. Claire was acting on it. Owen was acting on it. They would crash and burn, dying in  
the fire they had ignited for themselves. But, for the moment, sun still warm on their skin long after it had gone down; they were delirious.

Claire let him trail kisses up her legs, stubble scratching at her thighs, tongue intrusive on her lips as her knees started to buckle. They bounced against the bed, mattress springs accepting their weight, as Claire found her dominance. She straddled his waist, hands on his chest, lips pressed to his neck. Claire could have sworn the man was purring like a baby tiger. He was hard against her thigh, urgent, silently demanding. Owen let Claire have her moment, tantalising lips burning holes through his skin. He used their position to pull her dress over her head, before he flipped them, Claire on her back again.

They fought like that, each at intervals, Claire not taking no for an answer, and Owen enjoying the fight. Claire’s fingers dug into his shoulder, promising to leave crescent moons in his skin. She marked him with possible scars, he left bruises on her hips, the shapes of fingers buried into her hollow spaces. They rocked together, thrust for thrust, his eyes caught on hers. And when she came, curse on her tongue, his name sighed alongside it, he wasn’t very far behind.

Claire’s laugh almost startled him, as she settled against Owen’s chest. It was soft, settled on a gentle mewl as she got comfortable, her skin against his. ‘Where were you hiding _that_?’ Owen asked, fingers tracing up the back of her spine in languid lines. Claire giggled, actually giggled, as she pressed a kiss to his chest. She muttered something he couldn’t quite make out, her voice vibrating on a low frequency across his skin.

They had managed to set their differences aside. _Maybe it was that_ , she wondered, legs entwined with his. They didn’t work on the island, something wouldn’t let them - probably her need for professionalism, to remain king of the park from Control. As a woman in the workforce, she needed to be respected. She wanted to go on that date with Owen, but she feared of the ramifications. She raised her standards, set them up to fail.

This was different.

All it took was needing him to pretend to be her boyfriend. That had to be the key. His hands wandered through her hair, smoothing out the tangles, and letting glossy strands glide through his fingers. That was it. They needed fake dates more than real dates. The absence of pressure allowed room for emotion. It opened the floodgates.

‘I’m really glad I asked you to be my date.’ Claire sighed, her eyes threatening to close as she watched the empty space of the bed, happy to know that he was beside her, rather than next to her - or in the other room.

Owen chuckled, the sound reverberating against her ear, the vibrations almost tickling her delicate skin. ‘I’d hate to see Lowery sent in my place.’ Owen teased, one hand finding her thigh, the other going back to lazy shapes against her spine. Claire giggled again, happy for the easy pillow talk, the light humour. She wanted to ask if they would last, if they had something solid. She didn’t want to soil the moment, turning it black with sour thought. They had tomorrow. They had the next day. And then, they were due back on the island. That’s when she needed to worry.

The island would stand to test them, for now, they had no boundaries, no limitations. Only the gentle bubble of affection in her chest, and the fuzzy feeling that made Claire think it was possible to love Owen Grady, even without knowing him completely.


	36. #36 - Charlie and Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, technically this is cheating (and I feel like a cheat. pity party for one please). I don't really know how to put the prompt into words, because how it started out isn't how it ended. 
> 
> In short: a slight look into little Charlie Grady, her love for her father's zoo, and one particular animal contained within it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, cheating because this is an original prompt of mine. That I have done, because I can, I guess, even though I feel bad because I have a million others to do (that are not mine). 
> 
> It came from a post I made the other day about Charlie Grady insisting every birthday of hers is held at the zoo. Which, is how this little fic started, and then it just became a small little insight and head canon I have for MY Charlie. I ran with it mostly because I struggled to find Charlie's voice in my head a little the first time I wrote her. This time, I understood her. 
> 
> As for Elliot, too, I'm really down for obscure names on little girls. I met a girl named Elliot the other day, and she was totally cool and for some reason I thought Claire and Owen might do this (which they wouldn't. This is all me. This is why you don't give your daughter an odd name, she spends her whole life with a complex trying to replace it). 
> 
> Annnnd, as per usual, this is way longer than I originally set out for it to be but idfc.

‘At Daddy’s zoo,’ was Charlie’s prompt response when her mother inquired into birthday plans for her young daughter. Charlie didn’t hesitate to answer, tongue poking out of her mouth as she coloured furiously at the kitchen counter. Claire rolled her eyes, soft groan emitting from her throat at her daughter’s revelation. Of course. Charlie Grady hadn’t missed a birthday at the zoo for four years. Apparently, her eighth birthday would be no different.

‘Charlie,’ she sighed, ‘You can’t have every birthday at the zoo.’ This wasn’t what she expected when the doctor gleefully announced her gender. Claire expected birthdays showered in pink, purple, rainbow glitter. She was mentally prepared for faeries and princesses, damsels in distress at her daughter’s girly whim.

Charlie wasn’t exactly interested in those things.

Elliot, her three-year-old sister, however, was an expert in all things princess.

‘Why not?’ The little girl asked.

‘Don’t you want to do something different?’ Charlie shook her head. ‘Not even baseball? We can all go to the park?’ Her daughter was blessed with a spring birthday, the weather always perfect, the opportunities endless. And, she picked the zoo, over and over again, every time without fail.

‘I like Daddy’s zoo.’ That was an understatement. She _adored_ Daddy’s zoo, was _infatuated_ with it, _obsessed_. They all loved the zoo, Claire too, believe it or not. It had become home, and the stationary mark for many family memories since the _Indominus_ incident ten years ago that pushed them away from Costa Rica and straight into the arms of waiting San Diego. It was starting to loose it’s shine on the edges with Charlie’s constant use.

Owen loved it. He was the shining crown in his daughter’s eye, her admiration wholly on him. He attended every parents day, every show and tell, and every career week. In turn, they supported the zoo’s easter events, halloween spectacular’s, moonlit balls and sponsor gala’s. All outside of Charlie’s occasional askance to visit the zoo in order to see the animals.

’Daddy can do baseball at the park, too. He’s not restricted to one trick, believe it or not.’

‘But the Zoo is special,’ she pulled that line last year. She had been right, then. The zoo had welcomed a brand new baby elephant only a month before Charlie’s birthday. The little girl twisted herself around her Daddy’s finger tight enough that he snapped. Owen, just for his baby girl, his sweet Charlie Bear, arranged for both Charlie and her friends to have an up close and personal introduction with the baby animal.

Last year, Claire could understand the importance of a Zoo birthday for Charlie Grady, this year she was determined would be celebrated differently. Charlie wasn’t prepared to budge.

‘We can do something special away from the zoo, like Eli’s birthday.’ Charlie shook her head, grumbling something about how her sister’s birthday had been boring. Claire stared at her daughter, baffled. There had to be a bargaining chip in there somewhere, a compromise she could find without blackmailing her daughter with toys. Surely her friends were getting sick of the zoo, the excitement slightly less enthusiastic.

The first two times had been fun, introducing the zoo to a small group of four to five-year-old’s, Owen getting to lead the group around like his own set of eager ducklings. Charlie was a complete peacock, as she always was at the zoo, showing off spectacularly in front of her friends.

Charlie’s attention snapped the second she heard the front door click open, Owen’s voice filling the house along side Elliot’s babbling chatter. ‘Daddy!’ Her shoes thunked against the floorboards as she ran to him, arms wide. Owen caught her in the hallway, spinning Charlie around, Elliot on his other hip. When he stopped Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tight, her head falling against his chest. She sounded bereaved when she spoke, a tone he had learnt to associate with Charlie’s dramatics. ‘Mommy said I can’t go to the zoo anymore,’ she lied.

‘Not what I said, Charlie.’ Claire sighed, happily taking an eager Elliot from Owen’s arms. Both her daughters were happy to see her, whenever they had been separated, but Elliot, Elliot always seemed to love her in the way that Charlie loved Owen; just a little bit more. She kissed her toddler’s cheeks, brushing back dirty blonde hair from her little face. Charlie had curled herself against Owen, sulking as she lapped up the sympathy he always provided. ‘I suggested we do something other than the zoo for her birthday, this year,’ Claire explained for her husband. ‘Something different would be nice for a change, I’m sure her friends are already sick of the place - or at least know it better than their own neighbourhoods. We spend so much time there, ourselves, that she’s only going to wear out the novelty.’ Charlie shook her head as her mother spoke, murmuring a _nah-ah_ against her father’s San Diego Zoo shirt.

They cherished the fact that she loved the zoo. Owen a little more so than Claire. They both knew that a day would come where not only Charlie, but Elliot too, would grow sick of their father’s workplace. There would come a day where Claire and Owen would have to drag them to the moonlit ball.

‘I like the zoo, Mommy.’ They might as well face the fact that Charlie was born to be zoo keeper. It was in her blood, her synergy. ‘Tango is there.’ Tango, Claire rolled her eyes, smiling happily at Elliot who was pulling her mother’s hair silently. Charlie had a kinship with the tiger, an unspoken, unbelievable bond. Owen accredited it to their circumstance. Charlie and Tango were born seconds apart. He liked to joke that they shared a soul, his first born daughter, and his first tiger cub.

‘I know you do, baby.’ Claire tucked a curly red strand of her daughter’s hair, back in line behind Charlie’s ear. The girl shrugged away from her mother, pout creasing her lips. Owen huffed, setting Charlie on her feet as he crouched down in front of her. ‘Mom’s not banning the zoo, Charlie.’ He told the girl, holding eye contact with her stubborn fire. ‘She’s just suggesting that we do something different for your birthday.’

Charlie tore her gaze from her father to her mother, watching Claire stand only a few feet away, rocking Elliot on her hip, as she tugged at the uneven curves of tulle on Elliot’s tutu. ‘But what about Tango, what is he going to do on our birthday?’

Suddenly, it made sense. She didn’t want Tango to be alone on their shared birthday, the poor tiger probably sad if he didn’t see Charlie. ‘How about we go to the park for your birthday, invite your friends, play some baseball, and then after you and Mom and Eli and I will go visit Tango. We’ll give him dinner, and sing happy birthday. Does that sound good?’ Charlie shrugged her shoulders, pouting with wide green eyes. ‘Tango will like that, don’t you think?’

Charlie nodded slowly, ‘I guess so.’ She shrugged again before asking if she could go play. Owen dismissed her, smiling gleefully at Claire as Charlie ran off into the house, her feet echoing her path.

‘Crisis averted!’ He exclaimed, kissing his wife’s cheek, while he ruffled Elliot’s hair. ‘Now, you, little Eli,’ Owen kissed the top of his youngest daughter’s head, ‘Need to stay little’. Charlie was strong willed, persistent and stubborn. That was half the problem they had with her, and she was only seven - _nearly eight_. At least when she was younger, the same age as Elliot, they could make most of her decisions for her. She would just cuddle up to them and quietly agree.

Elliot shook her head, arms crossing over her little chest. ‘No, Daddy. I’m a big girl!’ She told him with a defiant pout, looking so much like her sister as she did so.

‘That’s it,’ Owen sighed. ‘Maybe we need another one - one that agrees with us. Boys are easy going right?’ Claire laughed, startling tired Elliot on her hip, as she set the girl down, leaving the toddler to toddle off in search of her toys.

‘Oh no, no, no.’ Claire shook her head frantically, laugher slipping between her dismissal. ‘No more babies, Owen. We’re done. We have two girls, that’s it.’ Owen pouted, causing Claire to laugh as she tapped his bottom lip, complaining that he looked just like both his daughters when he sulked. If you want a boy, convince Gray to stay here over going to college.’ Owen grinned, plan forming in his mind before Claire shot it down, swatting at his shoulder with a request for dinner and a change of topic.

*

Charlie didn’t manage to forget her father’s promise when her birthday rolled around. She was anxious all day, bouncing on the balls of her heels, expectant of her friends to go home so she could visit Tango. It wasn’t like she hadn’t visited the tiger at all that week.

Charlie had her Wednesday and Saturday routine with Owen. He left work early to pick her up from school on Wednesday so Charlie could accompany him through the closing routine, helping feed the animals, and do small chores. Mostly she leant against railings and talked about her day to which ever animal would listen. She was fond of the hippos most days, but Tango, Tango always came first. She’d spend Saturday morning with Owen making small rounds, checking that the zoo was in working order for the weekend rush and that each animal was content with their conditions. On Saturday’s she wore cargo pants just like her father, and a miniature version of the employee shirt, her name stitched into the breast pocked just like everyone else.

Her birthday fell on a Sunday that year, meaning she had just seen Tango the day before. Owen called it their _connection_ , again. Explaining away Charlie’s eager desperation. She had to be reminded on a few occasions to go play with her friends, or focus on catching the ball rather than running off the field to ask her mother when they could leave.

Once in check, after the seventeenth consecutive reminder, Charlie seemed to let it go. She calmed completely when Tango was in front of her, bought into the back shed, locked in his pen just as Owen had asked the staff to do.

‘Happy Birthday, Tango!’ Charlie whispered, always quiet around her friend, as she helped her father slip the tiger a birthday treat. She chuffed at him expertly, the sound easy from her lips, already perfected with years of practice. The tiger chuffed back, creating the smile on Charlie’s face to widen.

Claire almost hated the connection her daughter had with the endangered and dangerous animal, if it wasn’t Owen overseeing their interaction. Even then, she had her doubts on Charlie’s absolute safety. There was the picture, that sat, well admired, on Charlie’s beside table, of the little girl, only a couple of days old, lying on a blanket, baby Tango curled up next to her. She nearly killed Owen when he showed her the picture, adding - rather quickly - that Tango was perfectly harmless. It didn’t stop the worry that pounded in Claire’s chest. She knew, without a doubt, no matter the risk, that Charlie was always safe with her father. That he wouldn’t introduce her to a situation if there was a possibility that she could be hurt. Like igniting a friendship between beast and animal, that a year on could have swallowed their barely walking daughter.

She chuffed again, crouching down in front of Tango’s cage, not even reaching his full height. He answered the girl, as he always did. ‘He said, _happy birthday, Charlotte_.’ Of course the tiger called her by her real name, a name the eight-year-old asked her parents not to use. Claire couldn’t help the chuckle, as she shifted the heavy weight of a sleeping Elliot in her arms.

Tango leant against the bars of his cage, his ear sticking though the gap. Charlie wasn’t allowed to touch the animals, unless Owen specifically said it was okay. Daddy only, no one else. She sought out his permission, little hand hovering inches above Tango’s ear. He nodded slowly, couched down beside her, prepared to intervene if it was needed. He knew he shouldn’t trust the beast, not completely, but a lot more than he could have ever trusted his raptors. Charlie, on more than one occasion had put her hands on the big cat, even leant her little body on his, without the bars between them. Still, safety first.

She dropped her little hand to the cat’s ear, her hand so small in comparison as she scratched softly, petting his soft fur. Tango chuffed again, Charlie didn’t startle, her mother certainly did, but father and daughter remained completely still, making the noises right back.

‘How do I say, "happy birthday, Tango"?’ Owen asked his daughter, self professed talent in speaking tiger. Charlie smiled, slow and wide before she chuffed, the noise sounding half like a purr against her lips, focusing on slight sounds within it. Owen watched the girl, who watched the tiger, her hands buried in the vermillion of his coat as they communicated back and forth, a connection burning deeper than Owen had ever thought imaginable.


	37. #37 - Charlie and the Grocery Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: Imagine a Grady family trip to the grocery store. Claire would go off to the health food aisle with Elliot on her hip whilst Charlie manages to fill the cart with sweets and Owen pretends not to notice. When Claire returns, Owen’s got a sheepish look on his face and Charlie’s wearing a plastic tiara and clutching a new Barbie doll too. *queue eye rolling*

Charlie sat maddeningly at an age that drove her parents mad. She was wild. Too big for a stroller, and far too independent to be carried or confined. Even the trolley seats at the grocery store were too small for her now. She was caught in limbo, not quiet holding the restraint to walk calmly beside her parents without being held down. Charlie loved it. No stroller meant freedom for little Charlie. She was able to run ahead of her parents, or lag behind, most importantly; she was able to pick things up off the shelves.

Charlie had always been chaos incarnated. They should have named her Eris; goddess of chaos, strife and discord. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault, per se. They didn’t have a lot of time to get their lives under their feet. By the time Claire announced that she was pregnant, telling Owen on a whisper in the dark, they barely knew which way was up in San Diego. Charlie had become a whirlwind they anchored too. She became the new normal, the new standard, six-years later that hadn’t changed, only adjusted to let Elliot squish in.

Charlie was a good girl, mostly. When Claire had a steady eye on her. Owen, however, let things slip.

‘Please just make sure you get _two_ kinds of fruit for school. And _no_ sugary cereal, please.’ Owen nodded dutifully at Claire’s instructions as he surveyed his half of the shopping list. Divide and conquer had always been Claire’s mode of action. ‘Are you alright to take Charlie?’ He nodded, too sure of himself for Claire’s comfort. Charlie grinned at her parents, as she hung off the end of the shopping trolley her father had collected.

‘Fruit, cereal, lunchbox snacks, cake mix. I’ve got it.’ She eyed him warily. Almost tempted to send him off in search of the health food isle for Elliot’s gluten free snacks. ‘We’ve got it, haven’t we Charlie?’ He tried to convince Claire, not very well, as Charlie stuck out her tongue. Claire rolled her eyes, _of course_.

Owen was a good dad. He was a _great_ dad. Far better at the parental role than what she had been initially. Six years on and Claire still found herself smiling after him, watching as he insisted Charlie hold onto the end of the trolley or stand beside him. No other options. Charlie latched onto a pocked of his cargo pants, playing obedient.

Owen Grady could train Velociraptor’s far better than little girls.

Claire watched them walk in the opposite direction, heading straight for Fruits & Veg, shaking her head. She bid him good luck, trying to remind herself not to be too harsh on him when she found them later. ‘Daddy is a sucker.’ Claire told her youngest daughter, kissing the girl’s head softly. Elliot grinned, wide and toothy, blue eyes alight before she gurgled something back with her baby laugh.

‘Okay, Mom said fruit. Pick two, Charlie-Bear.’ The girl looked up at her father, surveying the array of fruits at her disposal. The look of disgust on her little face was internationally translatable. It was all yuck according to Charlie Grady, age six. ‘You love fruit!’ Charlie ate everything from candy to brussel sprouts. Currently, she hated everything.

She shook her head, arms crossed over her chest. Owen had to blink, she looked like Claire. ’I don’t like it anymore.’ She told him, defiantly in a little girl voice.

‘Well, we have to get something, kiddo. Pick.’ For a six-year-old, she was incredibly hard to bargain with. She shook her head. ‘Okay, I’ll pick then.’ He looked over the large section in front of him, knowing the girl wouldn’t budge, but she would eat whatever he selected. He sided with nothing too complicated, the age old bananas and apples. Charlie helped him pick the best ones, sliding them into a bag and then into the trolley without complaint.

He let her stray after a couple of minutes, reading the backs of lunch snack boxes, as the girl wandered a little further up the aisle. ‘Do you like these ones?’ He flashed her a box of rice crispy treats, in a hope of luring her closer. Something clinked in the trolley before she responded. She hummed in authoritative approval. Charlie’s little head appeared beside his hip, her mother’s red hair flaming on her head as she grabbed herself two boxes of treats from the shelf. ‘Would you like those, Charlie?’ Owen asked, trying to bite back a laugh.

‘Yeah-huh,’ the girl nodded with an easy hum, moving without rush to drop the snacks on top of a packet of Red Vines, she had clearly stowed away when he wasn’t looking. Owen thought about giving her a stern glare, of pointing the candy out and telling her to put it back. One pack of Red Vines wouldn’t hurt.

It only snowballed from there.

He couldn’t count the amount of items Charlie slipped in, letting plastic or cardboard slide down the edge of the trolley before landing on her growing pile. Claire was going to kill him. He couldn’t help the smile. She’d spent the weekend being coddled and cosseted by Karen and the boys, he really shouldn’t have allowed it any further.

He coveted the sweet things as much as his daughter, bags of candy, cream stuffed cakes and jam. Whatever was good for Charlie was good for Owen too, the man known for sneaking his daughter’s Twinkies for the hell of it. In reality, both Owen and Charlie were dreaming of filling the pool with sugar, and swimming in it. The best sugar coma awaiting them. If only Claire hadn’t been in on the shop too.

‘It’s for the trick-or-treaters.’ He heard Charlie’s innocent voice, only a few steps behind him, Claire’s indignant hum the only response. He turned, sheepishly, teeth biting at the inside of his cheek to keep the grin away.

‘And the Barbie?’ Claire asked. Owen had been completely unawares to Charlie’s newly acquired items until he turned. He’d been curious when she stopped dropping things in the trolley, but thought it _behaving_ more than swiping a small plastic tiara from _wherever_ she managed to find it, and the latest Barbie.

‘It’s for Eli!’ Charlie told her mother enthusiastically, throwing her hand out for her infant sister, unsteady on her feet but toddling beside Claire. And just as the tick-or-treaters had been a lie - it was early July - the doll was not for the person Charlie said it was. But, in fact, it was for herself. They’d fallen for that ploy before, caving into buying Charlie things she promised to share, only to get them home and have a tantrum because she couldn’t keep up on a promise.

Claire rolled her eyes, her daughter’s hand flying to protect the tiara on her head. Her concern wasn’t so much with the little girl - who _would_ have to put most of her excess shopping back - but rather, with her father, who should have been watching her. Owen shrugged, apologetic, ‘It got out of hand’.

‘You don’t say.’ Charlie grinned between her parents, flashing teeth. Owen braced himself, knowing what he had to do next, as he dropped down to Charlie’s height.

‘Now, I know we had fun shopping tonight, Charlie-Bear. But, we really need to put some things back on the shelf.’ The girl frowned, corners of her mouth pulling downwards. He’d seen far scarier looks of upset on her face, enough to know that she would at least listen this time. ‘We know, don’t we, that some of these things make Elliot feel sick, right?’ Peering around his shoulder, Charlie double checked her shopping. She nodded her head slowly, recognising several items her parents had specifically said, _don’t feed this to your sister_.

‘I’ll put them back, Daddy.’ She agreed easily. Owen grinned, thanking her softly for cooperating. He swooped up Elliot as Charlie moved for the trolley, Owen kissing her daughter’s face as she protested slightly for the disruption to her free walk.

They replaced most items quickly, Claire making compromises on a few. They were _kind of_ on the list, and she really just wanted to go home. ‘The Barbie, too.’ Owen reminded Charlie of the last item that she clung onto.

‘But, it doesn’t make Elliot sick.’ She argued, and quiet right too. The tiara had been surrendered without her notice, plucked from her head when she wasn’t paying attention and placed on a random, high, shelf. Owen blinked, turning to Claire for help.

Claire shook her head softly, ‘You’re right. But, we can’t get it this time, Charlie, you got spoilt enough by Zach and Gray this weekend. You don’t need a new Barbie.’ Owen watched his daughter’s foot raise, a stamp threatening to fall as her lip wobbled and her mouth produced a weak retort. She frowned again, the pout deep on her lips, before she handed the Barbie over to Claire.

‘Mission accomplished.’ Claire grinned, adding a side note that defusing Charlie of her sugary attachments was not the initial mission. In fact, making it out of the store in one piece, neither child in tears or tantrum, was just an added bonus to leaving with the right groceries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m considering setting up a second story set just for Charlie and Elliot if people think that’s a good idea. I’ve gotten a few prompts for these little ones lately, and I don’t want to bother those who aren’t all that into kid fics. Unless you all are. Which, by any means, I’ll just keep rolling along.


	38. #38 - Marry Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drtayswift: Owen proposing to Claire in the jungle

When they argued about it - which they do a lot - they blame the jungle. The jungle on that godforsaken island brought them together. She liked to rattle off the factors: the Indominus’ escape, her nephew’s disobeying instruction, her own self defiance.

It was the fast paced adrenaline rush that ticked through their bloodstream while they tried to calm their thoughts. It was near death, and animals that had once been extinct - for a near good reason, too. The jungle had been their setting.

She’d avoided it ever since. Until now.

Vacationing in Hawaii, Owen managed to talk Claire into a jungle hike. Reminiscent of old times, or something like that. She had rolled her eyes, insisting that they could find a far better use of their time. He’d heard of the perfect spot, romantic, quiet, beautiful - completely in touch with nature. Owen loved the green, green grass, green leaves, the sign of life in foliage. San Diego wasn’t giving him the hit Isla Nublar used to. Hawaii was a promise of the tropics, of nature’s existence.

She trudged along, caving in to his puppy eyes and the way he kissed her neck just right. They waded through the Hawaiian jungle, waiting for Owen’s inside source and badly drawn map to lead them to their location, his backpack crammed full with a picnic lunch … or so he had promised. Claire was skeptical of the contents. She followed, right by his side, simple sun dress, canvas shoes - she never knew how to dress for the jungle.

‘Maybe we should have just stuck to the path, Owen. We’re just walking in circles now.’ Claire cranked her head back, looking up at the trees that loomed over their heads, as she huffed to the man who was so self assured. Owen shook his head, denying the circles. They were on track, he was sure they were on track. ‘Well, honey, I hate to break it to you. But, we’ve walked back this log at least three times.’ Claire shrugged her pack off, dropping it to the fallen tree trunk as she surveyed their surroundings.

She hated this. Not the walk, that was nice, the jungle too. She just hated the paranoid fear that tingled up her spine. Every inch of her body was on high alert, waiting for the jungle floor to shake, for an animal to roar, for their lives to suddenly disappear. Every bird had the potential to be a Pteranodon, ready to swoop at her head. Every noise a coming Velociraptor or T-Rex. It was irrational.

It had been three years since Jurassic World. She still, on occasion, had nightmares. The dense jungle wasn’t helping, regardless of her admissions that everything was fine now, everything was back to normal. She could hear Owen behind her, mumbling something to himself that she only assumed was reassurance that he wasn’t lost. The path wasn’t far from where they were, Claire was sure of it, her hands pointed in front of her, her eyes squinting slightly. When he didn’t respond, likely sulking, Claire turned to address her partner. She didn’t expect, when she turned around, to find Owen kneeling on one knee in the moist dirt.

Alarm bells started to ring in her head. Some small part of her was praying that he just needed to tie his shoe laces, or that maybe she was near to stepping on some horrifying bug. She really hoped it was a bug.

It wasn’t a bug, and his laces weren’t untied. Instead, he pulled a small box out of his pocket, fumbling with it a little, almost dropping it to the jungle floor. Despite her panic, Claire laughed. The sound was odd in her throat, wet with conflicting emotions. She was scared, wanted to turn and run, but she could also feel the tears burning at her eyes, and the happiness about ready to burst in her chest.

This was what she wanted. An eternity with this man. They hadn’t talked about it, nor thought about it or heavily suggested. Surprisingly, Karen didn’t hint at every opportunity she got, mocking wedding bells in the silent spaces of family dinners. She never thought about the possibility of marrying Owen, and when she did - in that split second - she realised it was right.

‘I had this big sappy speech planned out,’ Owen laughed, looking up at Claire, the surprise still cast across her face. ‘And this romantic spot. But, this - this is how it should be.’ Standing around in the middle of the jungle was likely the last thing Claire expected for a wedding proposal. He was right, though. Something about it felt right, something ran reminiscent of their time on Isla Nublar, of his bungalow, of their day searching for her nephews and following the dangerous hybrid of a beast. She could have done without the nightmares, or the way her whole body seemed to tremble at intermittent points days after the T-Rex followed her out of Paddock 9. That day was the two of them, no time for masks. They were raw, they were honest, it solidified everything they had. ‘And, I know we’ve not talked about this, but I love you. My god do I love you.’

He popped the box open revealing a simple platinum band, a criss-cross pattern extended up the shank of the ring, embedded with small diamonds before reaching the large european cut on top. It was old, _very_ old. Probably his grandmothers, or some timeless family heirloom. Most importantly, it was beautiful, the midday light making the diamond sparkle. Claire wanted to reach out and touch it, check that it was real and right in front of her.

‘I promised to stick with you for survival,’ Owen grinned, still talking, bits of his speech coming to mind. Claire wanted to stop him, to interrupt, to cry yes as she fell to the earth in front of him. She just couldn’t find her voice. ‘Survival is going to be a very long time.’ The corner of his mouth picked up, smug. ‘Will you marry me, Claire? For survival.’ She was nodding before he had finished speaking.

‘Yes,’ she sighed, dropping down to her knees in front of him.

‘Yes?’ He repeated, eyes wide. He expected her to say yes, but there was nothing quite liking hearing the word. Claire nodded furiously, hands shaking as she pressed delicate fingers to his wrist, trying to keep herself steady. Owen pulled the ring out of the box gently, before sliding it onto her finger.

The ring was light on her hand, the perfect fit. Up close she could see it had been worn, weathered through the ages before it got to her. It was perfect. He was perfect. The jungle could be better, but for what it was worth: Claire wouldn’t have expected Owen to propose to her any other way.


	39. #39 - Charlie, Elliot and Storytelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Charlie and Elliot asking Owen about how he met Claire and their "story" and he tells them everything and Claire overhears and tells them her side of the story and just all around family cuteness oh my god pleaseeeee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what happened.

‘Daddy?’ Charlie started, her voice rasping through her scratchy throat. ‘Tell us a story.’ She snuggled into his ribs, Elliot agreeing, curled up against his other side. They were going to crush him at this rate, not that he wasn’t complaining. They were warm, and soft, and if he concentrated hard enough he swear they still smelt like their baby selves. He blinked and suddenly his daughters were ten and five, snuggled in his and Claire’s bed with a fever they had all developed. Claire the only disease free person in the house. As per usual.

Owen cleared his throat, trying to recall the beginning and end to a particular faerie tale he was sure his daughters loved. He started, recounting the easy once upon a time before Charlie interrupted. ‘No, a different story.’ The girl grumbled, eyes closed. ‘One about you and Mommy.’

‘A Mommy and Daddy story!’ Elliot agreed, her little eyes wide with drowsy excitement. He bopped Elliot’s nose, the little girl’s cheeks rosy, her eyes watching him with anticipation. Charlie loved any story, Elliot loved the ones involving princesses and their knights in shining armour. He was sure Charlie had fallen asleep against him, her breathing even and shallow. Instead, he aimed his story for Elliot, trying to pinpoint the perfect story for her. ‘How did you and Mommy meet? Was she a princess?’

Owen nodded his head, ‘She was beautiful, Eli.’ He mused, image of Claire flashing in his mind. He held onto the picture of her, trying to catch the moment precisely for Elliot, the girl clinging onto his every word. He didn’t know who she was when he saw her all those years ago. Owen had just stepped off the ferry, placing his feet on Isla Nublar for the very first time. He had two days to collect his bearings before he was required to sit in on an introductory meeting.

She was standing at the t-section of Main Street, Zara beside her, arm in the air, pointing at this and that. It was off season, guest count low, weather less than admirable. The wind was subtle, but still strong enough to rush her blazing hair around her face. That was what had caught his attention first, the vibrancy of her red hair and the unruly way it obscured her vision. ‘Like Charlie’s hair?’ Elliot peeped, sitting beside him, her legs crossed, stuffed elephant in her lap.

Owen nodded. ‘A little like Charlie’s hair.’ His hand absentmindedly found the soft red curls of Charlie’s naturally wayward locks. Elliot was right in her observation. Charlie thought her mother was on the right track with keeping her hair short - even though it had grown past her shoulders in more recent years - Charlie kept hers clipped. Uneven curls bounced in red waves against her shoulders, much like her mother’s straightened hair had sat on the day he first saw her.

He kept his distance, standing on the sidewalk, patrons passing him by like anyone would with an obstacle on the road. He swore, to Eli’s eager ears, that he could see the freckles on Claire’s nose, even from a distance. Elliot giggled, hands on her face, touching her own, sparse, freckles. Her eyes were blue, startling in their intensity, almost as deep and dangerous as the Mosasaurus tank. He tried to paint a picture for Elliot, recreating Main Street for her little mind, and exactly how wonderful her mother looked.

‘She _was_ a princess,’ The little girl sighed dreamily, green eyes twinkling. Claire had always been a princess in their little daughter’s mind. If Owen was being honest, Claire was and always would be his _Queen_. His daughters were rarely wrong.

‘You had no chance, Daddy.’ Charlie’s voice reached him, surprising her father who thought she was asleep. She patted his chest affectionately, eyes still closed.

Owen scoffed, ‘Gee, thanks, kid.’ He scuffed at her hair for a second, before testing her temperature, the back of his hand to her forehead.

‘Did you know?’ Elliot asked, drawing her father’s attention away from Charlie. He didn’t quite understand what she meant. ‘Did you know you loved Mommy when you saw her?’ Owen hummed, he knew she was special, that much was true. If someone had said to him, six years from the first day he saw her, he’d be holding his baby girl for the first time; he would have laughed. More importantly, he would have thought it impossible after they were formally introduced.

Owen had a burning passion to follow her around and make her blush. He still wouldn’t have called it love, definitely lust. She was forced on leave one year, her holiday time built up so much that Masrani Global insisted she had to take time off or else they’d stop paying her until it was gone. She disappeared for a week, Owen just about thought his lungs would fall out. He had his raptors, but he was lost without Claire.

‘Not at first,’ He told Elliot honestly. ‘But, I knew she was important.’ How deep did he want to get with his five-year-old daughter about his rocky beginnings with her mother? He wanted to be honest about love, about how much he loved Claire. But there were moments, moments were they wouldn’t have happened or lasted at all if significant events didn’t step in. The Indominus bought them together, stripped down their walls, leaving only the instinct to protect each other in an attempt at survival. Charlie. Without Charlie, Claire’s quiet, scared, admission that she was pregnant, he would have taken the job offer on the other side of the country and left. Not that they were together because of Charlie - it was complicated, far too much for either of his girls.

He changed his tone, focusing on what his daughter wanted to hear. How much he loved her mother. _How_ he fell in love with her. Owen was walking Elliot through an abridged version of the first time he and Claire met, when a protest sounded at the door.

Owen looked up, his grinning wife caught standing in the doorway. ‘How long have you been there for?’ He asked around Elliot’s body, as the girl pushed herself up on her feet to run across the bed for her mother.

‘I thought you weren’t well,’ She asked the girl, checking her temperature. ‘Long enough,’ Claire answered her husband, distracted, smirk still in place. She wrestled Elliot back to her space next to Owen, joining the three on the bed, sitting where Elliot’s feet finished beside her father’s knees. ‘How’re my babies?’ She leant over Owen to check on Charlie, the eldest girl suffering through the blows a little harder than Elliot. Claire brushed the hair back from Charlie’s forehead fondly, Elliot’s hand on her arm, requesting her attention.

‘Your turn.’ Elliot told her, smiling softly as she snuggled down next to her father, arms wrapped around his.

‘My turn?’ Elliot nodded her head slowly, Owen grinned.

‘Go on, Claire,’ Owen teased. ‘Tell the children about when you fell in love with me’. She played with Elliot’s hair next, the little girl watching her with inquisitive eyes, waiting for her mother to speak. _You don’t really want to hear about that_ , she had signed. Elliot nodded her head, Charlie managed out a soft please.

Claire waited a beat, thinking for a moment before she started. ‘It’s really silly,’ Claire blushed. They’d been married eight years, she thought that secret was safe with her, there was no need to prove she loved him. No need to pinpoint a moment. They had a daughter, they lived together, they couldn’t imagine a life without the other. That was enough. Not for Elliot. There wasn’t anything in particular while they were on the island. It just happened to hit her one day when she was visiting the raptor paddock. They had known each other for a little over a year. Claire was making her usual fortnightly visit, he had dismissed the girls just as she approached, his boots clunking on the metal catwalk as he smiled down at her. It felt like she had been punched in the gut, no warning, no nothing. The breath stolen right from her lungs as Owen stopped in front of her, joke on his tongue. They went on their first date after that. Despite it’s horrendous outcome she couldn’t help herself from grinning at his jokes, or being slightly excited for his presence.

Instead she told Elliot about how he saved her. How he held her hand, and scared away the monsters. Although she believed herself tough enough to keep them away herself, she needed an extra hand. Owen had provided that. Welded his sword beside her, and together they fought. That’s where she really fell in love, those days and nights fighting off invisible monsters, learning to live together, in the real world.

‘Daddy does that for us,’ Elliot added, reminding her mother that he’s the first person there if they’re scared.

Claire nodded softly, agreeing with her daughter as she reached to smooth out the child’s blonde hair. ‘Exactly right. I knew if he looked after me so well, that he could help me look after you and Charlie.’ She squeezed the hand that sat just above Owen’s knee, thanking him silently for everything that they had. She would have given up ten years ago if he hadn’t have given her a push. Where would they be now, if they didn’t have Charlie? What of their daughters, their lives?

‘And we live happily ever after?’ Elliot asked, half mumbling. Claire nodded again, promising both her daughters, and her husband, that they found their happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to try to lay off Charlie and Elliot for a couple of prompts, just so I can give the non baby trash people a break. You can still prompt me for the babies Grady, if you so please. Some of them are amazing. I want to die. 
> 
> Also, the next prompt posted will be the 40th! How did I get this far?! If there is anything in particular that anyone wants to see. Hit me up.


	40. #40 - Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire’s thoughts when she see thinks Owen is dead after the initial attack in the Indominus paddock and/or Owen’s thoughts when he sees Claire running off to Paddock 9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do something special for 40 prompts, but I couldn't think of anything. This was the 40th prompt I was sent and miraculously I hadn't gotten to it yet. It felt fitting. 
> 
> Here's to 40 more prompts ... or at least making it to 50. 
> 
> (title sucks, i know, i need to get better at those)

_‘Somebody talk to me, what is happening?!’_

Panic chased through her veins, her heart beat erratically, causing the tips of her fingers to shake, and her chest to rattle. Her eyes were blurring with panic as she struggled to focus on the road in front of her. Her foot was heavy on the gas pedal, the weight in her stomach dropping with every second that passed. They weren’t giving her anything. She could barely breath, breath caught in her throat as she hounded Lowery for information. He didn’t have much to supply. The Indominus was definitely in her paddock … and people. There were people in there too. _Owen._

Claire’s foot crashed harder against the pedal, desperate to get back to Command. There she could find some calm in her control. She was useless in the car, phone pressed to her ear, one hand fluttering against the steering wheel. There was nothing she could do, but panic vocally to Lowery, or run her car into a tree.

This was never supposed to happen.

The park was safe. At least it was supposed to be. Sure, staff got injured on occasion, some nearly loosing a limb, but they were yet to loose a staff member due to a hungry dinosaur. Owen would be the first. If the Indominus was in her paddock, Owen in there too, as Lowery had said - he wouldn’t be among the living by the time she got back to Command.

Something in her chest contracted. She had no claim to Owen Grady. She just liked having him around. He was infuriating, but funny. She almost felt guilty for their bad date. For her inability to let loose with him, like he so clearly wanted. Maybe she should have. Maybe she should have been the woman he could see behind her corporate exterior.

Those who worked with him and his raptors always had great things to say. What would the raptor project do with out him? He shared an bond with his animals that no one else could recreate - not even Barry.

He was careless, she tried to tell herself, asking for death for going into that paddock until she had confirmed the Indominus’ position. He was asking for it. Likely, deserved it. No. She shook her head against her thoughts. No one deserved to be eaten by the assets they put on display … or maybe they did. She didn’t know anymore. The years ticked on by, after a decade she was starting to doubt Masrani Global and their conscious effort to keep _dangerous_ assets alive. They brought in new guests, celebrity visitors, buzz - at what cost? They just lost the best behaviouralist the island had. There would be no replacing Owen Grady and his flirtatious remarks. Her gut churned, he wouldn’t call her _Red_ ever again.

She shook her head, shaking loose the thoughts as she pulled her car into the underground parking lot and shut off the engine. Claire sucked in a heavy breath, her hands still trembling as she wrapped her fingers around her keys. She couldn’t walk into Command shaken up, she needed to get a grip. This wasn’t supposed to happen. _Oh, Owen_. The aching hadn’t subsided, she didn’t expect it would - but wished it would at least lessen. How could she do her job objectively while she mourned over his loss. They now had other things to worry about. Like how a beast of that size could evade any and all detection measures set up in it’s paddock.

*

She distracted him momentarily, as he caught her flash of movement out the corner of his eye. His mind screamed. _What the heck is she doing?_ As she slid over the gift booth bench, leaving her nephew’s behind. She ran after that, her shoes faintly clicking in his ears, as she disappeared out of sight. He swore, heartbeat rising a little higher, in fear of her safety - and their’s collectively.

What _was_ she doing?

Owen had almost had enough of her careless antics. Not that she had done anything that day risker than he. Claire could hold her own, too. He knew that. He knew she was capable of herself, hell, that was what he liked. That, and her spitfire attitude, her ability to stand up to him, fight him word for word until he said something so ridiculous her cheeks flushed and she had to bite her tongue. He really wished she would lash back at his innuendo, simultaneously, he was scared of where that would take them.

They already had one failed date. Now, she was abandoning him. No, he shook his head, trying to focus on the large dinosaur beside him, his weapon running out of tranquilliser darts. Claire had a plan, she was smart like that, quick as a whip. It would be ingenious … he hoped. The darts were barely breaking the Indominus’ skin. The raptors were trying to help, their effort not unacknowledged. But it wasn’t enough, they were all going to be chow in a matter of minutes.

He almost missed the Indominus’ tail smashing the amber display he was hiding against, his thoughts on Claire distracting him more than strictly necessary. He moved out of the way just in time, preempting his pitiful death. He jumped into the booth, the boys beside him. They needed to wait it out, prevent injury or loss of life until Claire’s plan was actioned. Owen focused on that, seeking out the sign that she had come back.

The sound of her heels rang in his ears, a memory, not a current sound. He couldn’t tell what was real and what was not, the stress driving him to hallucinate. She could hold up her own, he had to remind himself, over and over until he felt the ground shake, the vibrations not matching up with the steps of the Indominus. Something else was coming. And then he saw her, Claire running, her heels cracking against the pavement, a flare in her hand, T-Rex on her tail.

He swore again. She had a plan all right, a dangerous one, but at least a T-Rex - especially as old as this one - would be easy enough to contain once again. He had to admit, she was smart, fearless even. He couldn’t help the proud little smile that tugged on his lips as he watched her.

She threw her flare, hitting the I-Rex against it’s shoulder blade, diverting the attention of the T-Rex away from her. Claire hadn’t stopped moving, her feet carrying her away from the giant beast. She wouldn’t make it, Owen observed, until she jumped, throwing herself to the ground.

The panic in his chest picked up again, simply at the sight of Claire, lying behind the T-Rex’s back foot. One wrong step and this was over. He was chanting in his head, begging her to move, move, move, _get out of the way_. Owen really wanted a second chance at their date, he _really_ wanted to get it _right_. She just needed to get out from under the Rex’s foot.

He lost her for a second, unable to see past the booth as both Rex’s battled it out. He felt the hair at his temples turn grey with worry. Twelve hours chasing through the jungle and Owen was sure he’d go prematurely grey - he’d blame it on Claire, if they got the chance to see that day.

The dinosaurs smashed into the booth, creating a hole where a wall should have been. Claire was in his sights again, his heart rate normalising, glad to see she was fine. She called out to them, her voice desperate, alive. Screaming for Owen and her nephews to run. It was there turn to escape an unfortunate flattening. And they did, they escaped again, and again, and again.

They made it to early morning, the Indominus resting in the belly of the Mosasaurus, the T-Rex once again queen of the island. Claire safe, Zach and Gray in one physical piece, their psyche would be determined later. For now they were thankful to have their mom and dad clinging to them like eager lifelines, keeping their scared pieces together.

When they managed to break away, Owen and Claire, alone in a quiet patch of sunlight outside of the hanger guests were being held in. He kissed her again, his thumb under her chin, only gently on her lips, thankful for the opportunity over everything else. She held onto him tightly, her hands wrapped around his arms, fingers digging into his flesh. Reliving the very real possibility that he could have died today - they both could have died. Her nephews too. It was so close to being over and now her career, the park, it was all done. Claire couldn’t seem to care. Those who made it out, did so, those who died; that would be her job in the morning. Masrani Global would deal with the rest of the aftershocks, pointing fingers, placing blame. It wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be as bad as running away from a dinosaur with it’s breath hot on the back of her neck.

For now, Owen promised her survival, her hands curled around his biceps, her head falling to his chest. They were exhausted but, they were alive.


	41. #41 - Sprained Ankle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dearinggradys: 'please put me down it's just a sprained ankle'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from this post: http://toxixpumpkin.tumblr.com/post/108022477839/ridiculous-sentence-prompts
> 
> Two updates in one day. Look at you lucky ducks.

She found a home with a yard. Luscious green grass, bright flowers, and large trees. The property was a little more than what they were looking for. They caved on the price, Claire swooning for bay windows, and an open floor plan. It was perfect. 

They had been there for a few weeks, their lives returning to an expected normalcy. The weather had warmed, the grass grew greener. Claire found herself nudging their lives into the outdoors. Eating dinner on the patio, leaving the windows open, stopping to smell the flowers. 

Claire sat glumly in a large armchair, foot elevated in front of her, eyes on the blooming garden. It was Owen’s fault that she was stuck there. The pout on her face grew longer. He had too try to scare her as she came home, had too, couldn’t possibly resist the temptation. He was a child, better suited to activities with Zach and Gray than living with her. Because of Owen, she sprained her ankle, the pale skin swelling slightly red around the small bone. He put it up for her, perched on a foot stool with a few extra pillows, and an icepack on top. He looked guilty the entire time, small pout and puppy dog eyes. She scowled at him, for a minute, sulking in an attempt to prolong his guilt. He shouldn’t be waiting for her to come home just so he could jump out and scare her. Evidently, people got hurt. 

Claire rolled her eyes, trying to turn back to the book in her lap, a suggestion from Gray, that had been referred to her a second time by Owen. Further proof; he was a man child. She read for a second, head tilted to the side as she absorbed the words on the page, trying to imagine the scenario being spelled out in front of her. She frowned, it wasn’t working, not for a lack of trying on the authors behalf - she just wanted to be outside. 

The leaves on the trees swayed softly, calling out to her on the gentle breeze. The weather was perfect, she should be out there. Maybe she could talk Owen into it, letting her sit in the grass beside the flowerbed. She could garden without disrupting her ankle. 

She looked up, peering over her chair at the sudden weight that seemed to fall across her shoulder. Owen was there, his presence heavy, highly concerned. ‘Maybe we should go to the the E.R.?’ He hummed, looking over her ankle, same guilt twisted across his face. Claire shrugged him off, she knew her body, and it honestly wasn’t that bad. She was about to retort when he scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other just behind her shoulder blades. She squeaked a little, not expecting the movement.

‘Owen, put me down, it’s just a sprained ankle.’ Claire tried to wiggle out of his grip, knowing her attempt would get her nowhere. She sat still, letting him carry her through the house and to the back door. She could see through to the patio, noting he’d hung the faerie lights and lit candles. Dinner was set and ready for them. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back the loving smile that threatened to skip across her face. ‘I’m still mad at you,’ She huffed, as he put her down, making sure her foot was supported on a cushion.

‘I’m really sorry,’ He repeated for the tenth time since she fell, her ankle twisting awkwardly in her shoes as her hands broke her fall against the hardwood floors. He was guilty instantly, no malice, or laughter, just curses and his hands helping her. And now this, dinner, outside on the porch, candles lit as the sun started to set. 

‘You’re an idiot,’ She told him fondly, her hand on his chest providing leverage as she reached up to peck him on the cheek. He apologised again. ‘Honestly, Owen, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just, I don’t know, warn me next time … let me get my shoes off first?’ He nodded solemnly, taking in every word, promising that it wouldn’t happen again. She tapped his cheek, forgiving him with a soft kiss to his lips before thanking him for what he had done to atone.

Owen dropped a kiss to the top of her head, apologising, unnecessarily, again. She didn’t refute, or remind him it was his fault. She basked in the warm air, in his hot touch, in the smell of her blooming flowers and the meal he had prepared. 

Claire sighed heavily, looking over her garden in the setting light, Owen warm beside her, his arm around her waist, settled on her hip. At least he brought her out there, for that he could be forgiven, for that she didn’t mind the sprained ankle, or the fact that it would have her out of action all weekend. At least it was the weekend. At least he was there.


	42. #42 - This is How a Heart Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Months after the incident, Claire and Owen become a very loving couple, however, Claire suddenly has to deal with the death of Owen when he gets into a serious accident at his new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

Claire’s hands slammed against the steering wheel, skin slapping leather before pulling back and repeating. She shook, her breathing restrained, her heart beating frantically in her chest. She gasped for air, hands hitting the steering wheel, taking hold, shaking it with all her might. She was suffocating. Claire couldn’t contain the bubble of rage that sat under her agony, poking her in the ribs instantly.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

Without warning - although she had felt it’s build up - a sob escaped, breaking past her teeth to fill the empty hollows of the car. It shattered her last remnants of control, breaking her down, making her fall.

She should have been able to hear the people on the street, the happy chirping of birds, cars on the road, horns on the brink. Everything fell silent around her as her sobs threatened to crack her chest open, letting the empty silence inside of her suffocate the air she couldn’t breathe. What was the point?

He was gone.

Claire Dearing had never been dependant on anyone. She certainly wasn’t dependant on him. But, he had saved her, she owed him that. He kept her nightmares at bay and her panic attacks controlled. Their new lease on life came hand in hand with the other. That connection had been severed.

Her head dropped to the top of the steering wheel, hands clutching it tight. What was she supposed to hold onto now. There was nothing left within her, no will, no drive, just heavy sobs. She slapped her hands against the leather again, unforgiving, trying to shake the remorseful look on Marco’s face. That’s all it was. The trainer standing at the other end of the hall, hat in his hands, complete and utter devastation across his face. She knew. Without looking at him twice, or waiting to hear his piece. She knew. Brian was there too, owner of the Zoo, overseer of all issues. He’d been the one to call her;

‘ _There’s been an incident_ ’.

The words echoed in her ears, forcing the sobs out harder. She had fallen to the floor when he approached her, one hand over her mouth, the other on her chest. She didn’t cry. Even then she couldn’t breathe, her heart rate sitting above normal since the moment she picked up the phone. She knew, as soon as he stepped forward, Marco’s clothes filthy, his skin red with someone else’s blood, his face drawn in deep regret. She knew. It didn’t help her prepare for the words, for Brian’s explanation, for the doctor’s brief analysis and final call.

Owen Grady. Dead. At 2:03pm on a Tuesday afternoon in May.

She couldn’t remember who, but, someone offered to drive her home. She shrugged them off, silent tears dry on her red face, blue eyes turquoise in contrast. She signed form after form with a shaky hand, trying to remember the nuances of Owen’s life and put them to paper. It hardly mattered now.

Claire didn’t let herself break down until she got to the car. She thought she could hold out until she got home, bottle it up until she was alone. She only made it halfway before she had to pull over, mournful rage bubbling up inside her, throwing her hands down, taking her agony out on her car.

When she did manage to return home, her head groggy, she stumbled to their shared bedroom, his t-shirt from the night before strewn across the linen. Claire pulled it on, replacing her work attire with his worn pyjamas before she slumped down onto the mattress, heart in her hands, despair in her head. She sat for a long while, unsure of what to do with herself, sure she had cried enough tears and did not need to add any more to the empty house.

It was too quiet. Her lip wobbled. No more strummed guitar, no more video games on pause, or the football down low. There was no sound of Owen humming in the kitchen, or calling out to her from the ground floor. The silence wrapped itself around her, tightening strings against her ribcage suffocating the little breath she had.

The sound of her phone ringing chattered the hollow silence, making Claire jump, her hands scattering for the device. She accepted the call without paying any mind to the image on the screen. Claire couldn’t breathe. Her chest was caught, lungs stuttering, mind blank. She waited for Owen’s voice, for his laugh or joyful admission of ' _miss me?_ '

Karen’s voice called out to her, easy going, launching straight into her debacle. She stopped after a minute, recognising her sister’s silence. _‘Claire?’_ She called out quietly, reaching for the younger woman on the other end of the line. _‘Claire, is everything alright?’_ Karen quickly started to panic, it was rare that Claire was quiet. Even when her sister was distracted, she hummed. Karen managed a third call of her sister’s name by the time Claire found her breath. Sucking in air greedily, almost chocking on it, Claire stuttered out a sharp, gut wrenching, cry.

Karen swore, a stream of the same expletive before she called out to her sister. Suddenly the distance from Wisconsin to San Diego was too much. _‘Claire, where’s Owen?’_ Her sister was prone to small bouts of panic attacks after the fall of Jurassic World. Claire’s arrangement with Owen started on the pretence of helping each other cope. He was always there to help her focus, and vice versa.

Claire couldn’t help the woeful sobs that broke through her. She thought she had cried herself dry, she was wrong. _‘Shit, Claire.’_ Karen panicked on the other line, too far away to step in and help her sister properly. _‘I need you to take a deep breath, okay. Can you do that for me?’_ Claire tried, her desperate sobs abating to heavy hiccups as she tried to hold herself together.

‘There - there was an accident.’ Claire managed to stutter, filing Karen in piece by piece through hiccups and the occasional uncontrollable sob.

Karen’s mind started to organise, already booking flights and contacting Zach at UCLA. _‘Zach will be there in two hours, and I’m on my way, okay? Everything’s going to be all right, Claire, you’ll get through this.’_ The sound that broke through her throat was more of a whine than a sob. In that moment, ever since the words were uttered to her, Claire realised she couldn’t get through it. She wouldn’t be all right. Her life with Owen had been full of hackneyed admissions and colloquial emotions.

She spent fifteen years working for Masrani Global, ten of those on Isla Nublar alone. Claire loved her job, was married to it. Her dates were far and few between. When Owen stuck around after the incident, when he refused to leave even though they were on the brink of pulling the other’s hair out, she knew he was it for her. There wouldn’t be anyone else. She wouldn’t tolerate video games, and a dorky cheeseball of a man following her around with a guitar on lazy Sundays.

Claire admonished that she could live without him; she didn’t want to, didn’t think she would have to make the choice.

Karen stayed on the line, listening to her sister’s heart bleed out on the other side of the country. Although Claire wouldn’t want to break down in front of her still young nephew, it gave Karen piece of mind knowing that someone would be there and soon. They still had Owen’s family to call, his mother, his brother, his sister. Karen would deal with that once she got to San Diego, her sister beside her. So long as she could keep Claire in one piece, without the woman shutting everyone out the last time the family suffered a loss.

Claire always glued herself back together beautifully, not a hair out of place. The cracks in her heart never healed, especially after significant heartaches. She patched up the problems temporarily, neglecting the real issues until they just seemed to fade away. Karen needed to make sure her sister healed properly, if she healed at all, to save Claire from the broken echoes she would be forced to live with.

 _‘I’m going to hang up now, okay. I’ll be there soon, Claire Bear. Soon.’_ Claire let her sister go, wrapping herself in Owen’s clothes, her head to his pillow, forcing herself to breath. It wasn’t much, but it was what was left of him. She could make it, until Zach got there, until he turned on the radio or coerced her into a video game. He’d keep her sane until Karen could help her find her missing pieces.


	43. #43 - Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen serenading Claire, Andy Dwyer style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an apology for the last prompt. Cheer up, my darlings. 
> 
> And for the prompter, I don’t know if this was alright. But I plan to integrate Owen following Claire around with a guitar as much as I can, so thank you for a small prompt that’s been added to my head canon for their relationship.
> 
> I chose ‘Love is a Battlefield’ purely because it was stuck in my head.

His eyes lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July, flashing with bright colours and pure excitement. He was a Christmas tree the first time it was turned on for the season, twinkling in the front window of a family home. He was a little boy getting his first puppy, shaking in disbelief.

He was so _excited_ to get his guitar back.

Immediately it was in his hands, strung across his chest, fingers fiddling with retuning the chords. Claire watched him with rapt attention, in awe of the instrument he had coveted for months. She didn’t quite believe him when Owen first complained, missing his guitar, his bike, having things to occupy his hands. She shrugged it off, dreading the day he bought a new instrument, or got the old one back.

As soon as he was happy, Owen began strumming, quickly, with apt skill. He grinned at Claire, smug. He stumbled over a chord, catching himself off guard before picking it back up, Claire matching his grin. She had started an unspoken challenge when she questioned his musical ability. Owen was all to ready to torment her now that his prized guitar was back in his hands.

Claire was happy to leave him be, collecting her small selection of items, returned from the island, she turned, leaving Owen to his guitar. Owen followed her, his guitar persistent, ‘ _We are young!_ ’ He crooned, ‘ _Heartache to heartache, we stand!_ ’ Claire stopped, in the doorway of her bedroom, rolling her eyes where he could see, once she recognised the song.

She tutted something about ridiculous as she pushed her door open with her hip, box in her arms. He continued, not deterred as Claire sat her box on her bed, and started sorting through it. She was laughing at him, the sound soft, too close to a giggle to keep his heart in check.

_‘You’re begging me to go,_   
_Then making me stay,_   
_Why do you hurt me so bad,_   
_It would help me to know ,_   
_Do I stand in your way ,_   
_Or am I the best thing you’ve ever had’._

Claire only rolled her eyes, as she tried to move past him. The grin on her cheeks was wide, the biggest smile he’d received, since they left the island. And, although she was rolling her eyes at him, the small laugh kept coming.

‘Right now, you’re in my way.’ She tried to play annoyed, attempting to shift around him, only to have Owen step in her way. He was laughing too, grin wide on his face, cheeks starting to hurt. He’d missed this instrument purely for the joy it brought him. Now, seeing the humour on Claire’s face, the slight flush on her cheeks, he missed not having it as soon as they settled in Costa Rica … or even having tried it’s magic on her back during their date.

_‘Believe me_   
_Believe me_   
_I can’t tell you why_   
_But I’m trapped by you love_   
_And I’m chained to your side'._

The song was the first one he remembered, the first thing that came to his fingertips the second the guitar was in his hand. He couldn’t help but notice the irony, or the changing colours on Claire’s cheeks. They’d kissed, on the island, heat of the moment. They agreed to ‘survival’, but hadn’t exactly agreed to a relationship with each other.

Claire tried to move past him a third time, eyes alight as she rolled them for, likely, the thousandth time. He only grinned harder, waggling his eyebrows at her, teasingly. Owen never expected for Claire to stand up on her tip toes and kiss him. His joke was over, her mouth soft against his, so brief he thought it never happened.

‘Are you done?’ She asked, smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Owen nodded softly, still stunned. She shooed him out of the room, claiming she had work to do, or something of the like. Owen didn’t hear her, too busy promising himself that he’d serenade her a lot more if it got him that response.


	44. #44 - Charlie, Elliot and Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: Owen bathing Charlie and Elliot, making a bubble beard and acting funny voices to entertain the girls, and Claire is stood behind them leaning on the doorframe smiling wondering how she ever got so lucky.

Claire was usually on bath duty. She scrubbed their daughters clean, before Owen put them to bed, sharing a story and a kiss on the head. He had cooked that night, so she cleaned up, leaving Owen to bathe their Rugrats. 

She almost didn’t trust him, upstairs with a bath full of warm water and bubbles. He’d leave more mess than intended, the girls mildly clean. 

Claire could hear their giggles from the kitchen, as she finished loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Charlie could be heard demanding more bubbles, her bright laugh drifting down the stairs. She wandered up the stairs, following Charlie’s laugh and Elliot’s shrieks. Claire stopped in the doorway, leaning on the jam, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched them. Charlie was patting at her father’s cheeks, adding bubbles to his stubble. 

‘Now you’re an old man!’ Charlie giggled, finally recognising that she couldn’t possibly pile anymore bubbles to his face. She grinned, sliding back a little to appreciate her handy work. ‘You have to tell a story now,’ She practically demanded, hands full of bubbles, attention turned to her sister. 

Owen thought for a minute, his hand pretending to stroke his bubble beard before he came up with a story - or likely a lesson. He was mocking his father, very clearly, his voice taking on a forced croak, speech slowed. He was reprimanding his daughter’s in his father’s voice, telling them not to make a mess or no Christmas presents. Claire chuckled at the outraged gape Charlie threw over her little shoulder.

‘Mama!’ Elliot shrieked at the sound of her mother’s voice, her body rising from the soapy water, her hands in the air begging to be picked up. Owen plopped her back into the water, clicking his tongue before telling his young daughter he had to wash her hair first. Elliot wasn’t the fondest of baths, nor being told she couldn’t have her mother when she wanted her. Her bottom lip pouted and started to wobble, her little face turning pink. 

Owen avoided the emotion, talking her through his steps easily, as he popped open the lid of the baby shampoo. For an almost two-year-old who refused to talk as much as she was capable, Elliot understood every word. Owen bopped her nose with a sudsy finger, creating the little girl to laugh. Her eyes only flickered from her mother’s figure in the doorway to eye Charlie wearily and her father with concern. 

Claire had a habit of being overprotective. Seeing the look of worry in her baby’s eyes made her want to rush over and scoop her up. She refrained, knowing Owen had it sorted. It was only water, he just had to wash her hair, it would take two minutes. 

Charlie splashed beside her sister’s head, causing the infant to jump. ‘Charlie?’ Owen asked, drawing her attention. ‘Can you see Eli’s ducky?’ It was right behind the girl, he knew the segue would keep her somewhat still. It would distract Elliot too, keeping her calm until her hair was washed before he could hand her over to Claire.

She couldn’t help herself from being fascinated with the way he handed their daughters. Charlie was nearing seven-years-old, and Claire still couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach. He was gentle, loving, caring. Took every spare second he could with them, doused them in love and spoils. Claire herself never missed out on special treatment either, she was there mother - the most important one of them all. 

If someone had told her seven years ago that she’d be living in a moderate town home with two daughters and her husband, Owen Grady, no less; she would have laughed. Karen had always been persistent that her sister would have children, Claire never saw the possibility. And now, here it was. Two beautiful, healthy, and happy little girls. 

Charlie found her sister’s duck easily, squeezing it once to hear the squeak. Without missing a beat she launched into a song, something they’d found on Sesame Street one rainy afternoon. Owen joined her easily, and unashamed to know the words of Ernie’s ‘Rubber Ducky’ song. 

Claire watched, in awe of the small team Owen always managed to conduct. Just by hinting at the duck, Charlie fell into song, her splashing stopped, Elliot remained relaxed. Another bath time was successfully completed … for Elliot. Claire stepped forward on her cue, the baby sized towel already in her hands. She accepted her daughter when Owen lifted her up, kissed her on the cheek, and handed her over. 

She swore somedays all she did was blink. Seven years in a millisecond. Having nothing but a cold high rise apartment on a dinosaur infested island, to warm cuddles with her daughter’s before bed. Elliot’s arms wrapped around her neck, her cheek pressed into her collar bone, her heart thumping under her chest. 

Claire kissed the top of her daughter’s damp head, squeezing her a little tighter. They left Owen on his own to wrestle Charlie into cleaning her hair. 

Owen sought them out later, Charlie kissed goodnight, the lights turned out. Claire was in bed, book in hand, back propped up by pillows, Elliot curled up, asleep on her chest. Crawling across the bed, Owen chuckled, a kiss pressed to his wife’s cheek, another for his daughter. ‘She’s getting so big, so fast,’ Claire half complained. They never had an issue with Charlie going from infant to toddler, to small child. Claire was struggling with the reality of Elliot’s left behind infant year. 

‘We can always have another one,’ Owen teased, stroking the soft hair on Elliot’s head. Claire’s response was immediate. Her head shaking as she closed her book and put it to the side.

‘No way, Mister.’ She tapped his cheek playfully, ‘Two girls is enough. No more.’ 

Owen sulked, ‘But three’s the charm’. She told him no for the second time, leaning over to kiss his small pout away. Elliot had that pout, the roll of his bottom lip, it was exactly the same even on her baby face. ‘I’ll put her to bed,’ He offered, reaching for the little girl. Claire was right, she was getting too big too soon. Elliot was only born a little over a year ago. Now she could talk, she could run, next she would be joining her sister at school, or tantrums, or preferring her mother over him just a little more. 

‘Owen,’ Claire called out to him, her husband in the doorway, their daughter sagged against his shoulder, little face pinched in sleepy annoyance. He hummed, feet stilling in their movement to listen to her. ‘How’d I get so lucky?’ She asked, his eyes sparkling in front of her. Owen only shrugged, repeating the sentiment. 

They were both lucky, for each other, for their daughters. For every wet kiss to the cheek, every warm hug, and every little, endearing, moment.


	45. #45 - Charlie and Birthday Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I prompted myself, because it was my birthday on the 6th. My Mum has this little tradition of telling us kids our birth stories on our birthdays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m calling this quits at 3,000 words. It wouldn’t end, man, wouldn’t end. I also hate the formatting but I got in too deep to change it. Yes, I’m a lazy writer. Shoot me.

‘Daddy?’ Charlie whispered as she crawled across the couch to snuggle into his side.

He responded as he always did, ’Charlie?’ Inquiring right back into her small little utterance of his title. No matter how many times she said it, whether she was sad or angry, happy or expectant, he wouldn’t get over it. Daddy, it was a good word when he thought about it. When he heard it from his daughter’s lips.

‘Tell me about my day,’

‘Your day?’ He asked quietly, smile tugging at his cheeks. She was always going on about this, that, and the other. Hers, hers, hers. Elliot’s - sometimes. They were still coping with the idea of sharing now that her baby sister had arrived. There was always something with Charlie that didn’t quite make sense in her four - now five - year old way.

‘My birthday.’

‘Charlie, that was today.’ Owen crinkled an eyebrow as he watched his wife take a seat beside them, second slice of birthday cake on her plate.

The girl shook her head, not playing with her father’s antics. ’Nooo, my first one.’

‘The day you were born?’ Claire asked, reaching a hand out to rub her daughter’s back. Charlie was fading, and fast. The day had worn down on her, testing the patience of her sleepy little mind. She was only five, newly five, her days were still lined in small hours. Charlie hummed, accrediting her mother as correct.

‘That’s a Mommy story,’ Owen told the girl, ruffling her hair. Knowing it was something Claire would prefer to tell, over him. Especially for the first time.

Charlie shook her head, her hand tapping his chest, ‘No. You tell it’.

‘Well, it’s a long story. Are you comfy?’ The girl hummed, wiggling herself in closer. Content that he was comfortable, eyes watching his grinning wife. Owen began.

*

 

Her water broke in the early morning of the day before. She was calm, collected, none too concerned. _These things take time, Owen_. He was a mess, panicked, stressed. Owen couldn’t keep his head in one place, or his eyes on the road.

Their doctor smiled at them softly. Claire’s water may have broken, but their baby wasn’t on the move. He gave them 24 hours before he wanted to induce labour. She patted Owen on the shoulder kindly, boosting him with a large smile, ‘ _All in good time, Dad._ ’ He smiled at the woman, feeling a little wobbly while Claire laughed, ushering them both out the door.

It suddenly became too much, the idea of having a baby. She certainly wasn’t planned, which didn’t make Owen feel any better. They weren’t ready for this, he could see the worry on Claire’s face, the grey in her blue eyes, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. They found reality in their child’s heartbeat, in her confirmed sex, and now in her suddenly impending arrival. Baby Grady had 24 hours to vacate the premises or she’d be evicted with little warning.

They returned home after that, Owen trying to push off some joke attempting to hide how scared he was. This was it, go time, in a relative amount of days. If Claire noticed, she didn’t say anything. He expected she felt the same, just as cautious, just as uncertain. They talked about calling Karen before deciding better against the idea. There was no use alerting the older Dearing if there was no baby on the way … just yet. She was still preparing for her big arrival. Somehow, he just knew, they were going to have a little drama queen.

Owen didn’t know if he should go into work like normal, or stay with Claire. He watched her for a few moments, waddling about the house, trying to finish of the last of their newborn washing. It was all so small. ‘Just go, if you weren’t here this morning, I wouldn’t have told you anyway.’ She waved him off. He felt a little offended. Sure, he knew what she meant. If her water had broken later in the morning, after he left, and she got the same response from the doctor, she would have returned home like nothing happened. Hell, she probably would have told him she was technically in labour over dinner. He stayed, torn, for a few extra moments soaking in the sight of her.

She hated it, being pregnant. She hated the large round belly that always got in her way. Her swollen ankles, her aching back, and the way she _had_ to waddle. He loved just about every second of it. Especially the nights were she couldn’t find the energy to get up the stairs. They’d slept in the guest room on a few occasions, Claire too exhausted, too uncomfortable to fight the stairs even with his help. On the nights in which she was determined to sleep in her own bed, he helped her up, hands on the small of her back.

He worried, a few months ago, that maybe he didn’t love her enough to stick around. She’d given him the option to get out, to run, to leave, to not look back. He hadn’t taken it, determined to stick by her side. He had his moments of doubt. But this, pregnant Claire. He loved her too much in those moments to even second guess their future.

Claire eventually swatted Owen out of the house, complaining that he was getting in her way and only bothering her. He went to work, arriving at the zoo just after twelve. He knew his Sumatrans were taken care of, Stewart was always there, regardless of if Owen was on or not. He rushed to pick up the pace where others hadn’t quite completed his usual jobs, before he went to check on the tigers.

‘Where’s Ragi?’ Owen asked Steward the second he noticed their female wasn’t in the enclosure. The news that she was being kept in her pen by the vet set Owen’s heart racing. They were expecting cubs in a couple of weeks, not now, not today, not this week. Regardless of his hesitation, he felt giddy knowing both his tiger and Claire were in labour at the same time. He got carried away after that, sticking with the animal until one of the girls from the ticket booth came to find him.

They were so close, the vet promising cubs at the latest, by early morning. Owen was committed to keeping himself there, determined to imprint slightly on his new cubs as he had done his raptors. And even if he couldn’t, he didn’t care. The Sumatran’s were quickly going extinct, and here they were, in his zoo, welcoming a hopeful three more into the world.

’Hey, Owen,’ It was Alice, one of the younger staffers who doubled in the zoo’s upper market restaurant. She’d already promised Claire to babysit sometime, after the baby was born and they were ready for a night out. ‘Claire’s on line 2, she’s looking for you.’ She shrugged, ‘Kinda sounded important’. Owen thanked Alice as he quickly jumped up and went in search of a phone.

Claire was calm on the other end of the line, nothing in her voice gave away what she was calling for. Owen flicked a look at his watch. It was nearing seven. He should have been home two hours ago. He cringed, knowing that she would be mad about that, dinner probably going cold on the table. He was in trouble.

She gritted her teeth and groaned painfully through a contraction as he explained Ragi was due to deliver her cubs, and that he wanted to be there to help. The sound set his heart racing, the same panic from that morning setting across his skin.

‘That’s really nice, Owen. But, I swear, if you don’t get here soon, I’m going to have this baby on that couch you love so much. It’ll be ruined forever if you don’t hurry up and get home.’ The threat was enough, he ran out of the small office, calling out to Stewart to keep him updated on Ragi.

He swore the whole way back to the house, twenty minutes was too long, _too long_. Owen’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel, he was determined not to break any road rules, he could drive home calmly, Claire would be fine. He was only partially wrong about that. Running through the door, Owen skidded to a halt in the living room entry. Claire was sitting on the couch, _the couch she threatened to ruin_ , back arched, one hand on her hip the other rubbing a circle against her belly. ‘Are you sure this is it?’

‘Are you really in a place to be questioning me?’ She snapped back, irritated, cheeks a little pink, breath hard to come by. He did as she asked after that, not without pressing a kiss to her cheek in apology. He threw the hospital bag in the car first, chest jumping at the realisation of what was going on. Their were onesies in that bag, sized at four zeros, someone would be coming home in them in a short amount of time - or so he hoped.

Claire stopped halfway to the car, back bending as she called out in pain, one hand wrapped around his arm, nails digging into the muscle there. He let her, wincing to himself quietly while trying to count all the good merits they had coming. _Their daughter_.

A smiling nurse rushed them into an awaiting room, like they had done that morning. This time Claire was sitting uncomfortably in a wheelchair, half holding herself off the seat, convinced that she could feel her daughter too much to be sitting on her. She was quiet outside of that, nails locked on his hand once the nurse left the room, and let her do as she pleased. She paced in small lines, too scared to move from him as she bit down on her lip every time a contraction passed.

The doctor was in momentarily, smiling at both Claire and Owen, apparently glad to see them so soon. Owen wanted to scoff, with the pain Claire looked like she was in, and the resurgent fear that he was going to be somebody’s _father_ , he would have preferred not to see Dr Samantha Young’s face ever again.

Owen dashed out of the room when his phone beeped wildly in his pocked, apologising to both Claire and the doctor. He had to take the call, it was Stewart. _The vet was adamant that there would be cubs that night._ Owen thanked him, requesting texts instead of calls. Claire would kill him if his phone started ringing in the delivery room again. He called his Mom before he went back in, letting her know that her granddaughter was on her way. She would pass the message on to his brother and sister. Right now, he needed to get back to Claire, the pensive look on her face worrying him just slightly.

He felt like he blinked when Dr Young started telling Claire to push. She was crushing Owen’s hand in hers, refusing the epidural that would probably save them both. It’d been three hours, he realised, eyes catching his watch, since they came in. It was nearing midnight. She was exhausted, the pain too much, and hungry. There was nothing he could do for her but offer up ice chips. Even then that didn’t help how tired she was, dozing off in the ninety seconds worth of pain free time before her next contraction.

Claire called out only a little, cursing his name under her breath as she bore down and pushed as the doctor instructed. He felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, his mind distancing for a second, wondering if it was Stewart, or his family. Karen was due to be there any minute - Claire had called her earlier in the evening when her contractions picked up.

The tight grip Claire had on his hand kept Owen centred, reminding him of the here and now of the moment. He encouraged her, squeezing her hand back, as he wiped her sweaty hair from her forehead, and dropped a kiss to the top of her hand.

His phone buzzed again, this time in such a way he knew it was a phone call. ‘I swear to god, Owen. If that’s Stewart, I’ll feed him to the god damn tigers.’ She was full of it tonight, Owen couldn’t help but laugh, Claire throwing around threats was reminiscent of her days on the island - only she was scarier now than then. He was worried she would actually do it, now. ‘Go on, answer it.’ She nodded her head, face contorted. He didn’t know if she was being sarcastic or not.

‘My daughter is being born, Stewart, I don’t have time for this.’ He snapped into the phone, taking on Claire’s tense tone as he hit the disconnect button and shoved the device back into his pocket. Claire patted his cheek with a clammy hand, smiling at him through gritted teeth. Dr Young only smirked at him, adding in a quip that he shouldn’t even have his mobile on in the birthing suite.

They didn’t have time to talk technicalities when Dr Young announced that she could see their daughter’s head. It was all a blur after that, Claire fighting with all her might as their daughter came into the world with failing limbs and a strong cry. He moved with the nurses without thinking, Claire letting go of his hand. He watched over their shoulders as the cleaned the little girl off and took her measurements. She was so small. The tiniest little thing Owen was sure he had seen. His raptors had been small, but his baby, his daughter. She was something else entirely.

She was handed to him suddenly, still screaming, almost out of nowhere, the nurse grinning as she announced, ‘ _Say hello to Daddy,_ ’ To the white bundle that was suddenly in his arms. He didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t have any time to panic about it. She was there now, his daughter, her wailing stopped as soon as he relaxed. His eyes were glued to her little round face, still red and slightly gooey. Owen didn’t care. _God_ , he loved her. Every inch of him _loved_ her.

Owen moved slowly, unsure on his feet with this tiny, feather light creature in his arms. He took her to Claire, lowering himself to a chair a nurse provided. Claire’s hands were on his face, thumbs wiping away at a moisture under his eyes. She laughed at him softly when he looked to her in awe.

‘You’re crying,’ Claire told him, tears in her own eyes, as she looked from his face to the small bundle he was holding. He laughed a little, as he stood, transferring the baby uneasily into Claire’s arms.

‘We did this,’ He whispered, two fingers helping peel back the blankets around their new daughter’s fresh face. Claire echoed his words with complete awe. They did this. They created that life. That very real human being in her arms. ‘She’s beautiful,’ He could feel that world shifting change befall him, every hackneyed phrase and colloquial set up, sat on his shoulders. This was it, the rest of his life was dedicated to that tiny bundle and her courageous mother.

*

‘Aunt Karen was already in the waiting room, ready to meet you. She sat with you and Mommy while I called Auntie Lorna, Uncle Travis, and Nana & Pa.’ Owen continued, filling Charlie in on all the menial details - and most importantly finding out that the first tiger cub was born - to the minute - at the same time as Charlie herself.

‘That’s not as crazy as Elliot’s birthday,’ Charlie mumbled, now sitting against her mother, loyalty shifted once Claire offered to share her cake. Crazy was one word to describe Elliot’s birth, hectic was another.

Claire laughed a little as she smiled down at her daughter. ‘That’s because Elliot was in a hurry,’ She explained easily to her daughter. It wasn’t the whole story, but it wasn’t anything the five-year-old needed to know just yet in her life. ‘But you, Charlie Bear, you were right on time.’ She grinned, flashing her teeth, head against her mother’s arm.

‘That’s ‘cause I’m a good girl.’ It was Owen’s turn to laugh, hand tapping Charlie’s ankle in his lap.

‘That’s arguable.’ Claire mumbled teasingly over his daughter’s head. ‘Are you ready for bed?’ She asked the girl, brushing her light red waves through her fingers. Charlie nodded her head softly, eyes closing against her mother’s soft touch. ‘Who do you want to tuck you in? Me or Daddy?’ Charlie mumbled for her father, little body shifting towards him.

It had been a long day for the little girl and her parents. They’d shepherded a group of small children around the zoo, all of them following Owen like ducklings to the mother duck. He took the lead, stopping at fences and glass walls, introducing the children to the animals and the animals to the children. Claire pulled up the rear, pushing Elliot in the stroller behind the rest of the group, keeping the stragglers in line.

‘Did you have a good day?’ Owen asked, lifting his daughter from the couch. Charlie wrapped her arms around her neck, as she nodded softly. ‘Was it the best birthday ever?’ She nodded again, slowly but surely. Claire got up to kiss her daughter’s cheek, whispering goodnight against her skin as Owen did the same before carrying her off to bed.

They made it through five years. Five years since the day she was born. Birthdays were due to come and go, some she wouldn’t quite remember, others she would never forget. He already couldn’t say what they’d done for her second birthday, or her third. But, Owen knew, without a doubt, that he would always remember the day she was born.


	46. #46 - Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen and Claire going over to Karen’s place and Karen insisting on showing Owen old photos of Claire and the stories behind them? Idk I think it’s the cutest thing. 
> 
> &
> 
> reginamjlls: Karen manages to find some embarrassing home videos of Claire for Owen to watch

Owen was chuckling beside her, whole body shaking with his effort to suppress his humour. He wasn’t doing a good job, at hiding it, Claire’s cheeks flushed red. Karen had found a tape she knew Owen would _die_ to see. Claire, at age fifteen stood in front of the camera with two friends. The three of them recanting a scene from _The First Wives Club_. The three girls, sang the Leslie Gore classic off the top of their lungs. Fortunately for Claire, that was the worst of them.

She was as crisp and finely trimmed as a child as she had been in corporate office when Owen first met her. That never stopped her from having a sense of humour, or silly, memorable moments. Just, some not as bad as others. There was no embarrassing Spring Break video. No drunken night in the back of her sister’s car or equally traumatising memory.

Karen had promised Owen the best dirt she could ever offer up on Claire Dearing. So far all she had was a heap of videos from track meets and some of Claire and her friends in various stages of their lives.

‘You were _so_ cute,’ Owen cooed, pointing at the screen, camera close up to Claire’s grinning face. She had braces at age fifteen, freckles following the bridge of her nose and a smile that only screamed how sweet and innocent she had been.

Claire only rolled her eyes at Owen’s comment, scowling at her sister on the floor opposite them, remote in hand, new album uncovered. ‘I knew you’d love these,’ Karen announced, grin wide. Since the island, and Costa Rica, and since they finally found a permanent home on US soil Karen and Owen ganged up on Claire. Most importantly, since Claire announced quietly to her sister that she and Owen were officially dating and importantly, since Owen and Claire announced quietly to Karen that they were offical.

They sided against Claire in every attempt to embarrass her. All in good fun. They loved her, cared about her. Owen in particular got a certain kick out of making her cheeks flush pink. ‘Claire once her braces came off,’ Karen explained, sliding a picture across the table. She was a year older - sixteen - grinning with pearly whites, up close to the camera. He could count every light brown freckle on her pale face. Owen grinned in turn, flashing her the picture with amusement. She smiled wide, taking the picture out of his hands with wide eyes. Clearly, the memory attached was a fond one.

‘Oh my god. This one - okay, this one - Claire went through this phase where she had to streak around the house after a bath - every night.’ Claire buried her head in her hands as Karen handed over the picture of toddler Claire, back to the camera, naked as the day she was born.

There was more, a whole box full, pictures of Claire from the day she was born to the Christmas just after her mother died. A small collection of her life, caught on shiny paper, immortalised and packed into a small box.

‘Where did you find these?’ Claire asked, shuffling through a stack, smiling softly, cheeks still red with embarrassment.

‘Dad. Got ‘em before he died. I sorted through them ages ago, put them aside for you. I thought you’d want them - I don’t know. Keep up your own album. Honestly, do whatever you want with them. Mom and Dad were good at keeping backups. I have copies of everything.’ Karen shrugged, taking the stack of photos her sister was done with.

Claire hardly thought about keeping photographs. She had a few, that inevitably traveled with her, or were sent as gifts from Karen. She didn’t have as many as this, and certainly not a lot from her childhood. There was one picture, of the girls and their father, beaming beside him at the state fair. She’d had that picture for as long as it had been taken. It went to Stanford, and Isla Nublar in the same frame she had put it in as a seven-year-old. Other than that the only other pictures she had was one of her parents, long before her mother got ill and died, and two of her nephews.

Maybe that was what their house was missing. The personal touch of family photos. ‘You should call your Mom, see if she has anything like this.’ Claire suggested, only to wish that she didn’t by the look of apprehension on his face.

He wasn’t staying. Not in the house that she bought, and likely not in the same state. He was being hounded by a corporation on the East Coast, big money chasing a behaviouralist’s talent. She only knew about it because she’d accidentally answered his phone the week before. Owen hadn’t brought it up, but she could see he was considering it. He moved to San Diego with her because she had a job. After the Incident Owen was left high and dry, mostly on his part - he refused to sign back on with InGen. He was left in the lurch in a city that wouldn’t offer him a job, in a world he felt slightly out of touch with. Claire didn’t know if he would take it or not - he’d be stupid not too - he was unpredictable like that sometimes.

Claire had something on her chest, a secret kept under her clothes, a burden she wouldn’t dare push on him. Not now, not when he had this decision to make. She could keep her mouth shut for the time being, or the rest of her life if he so chose to leave. It would be hard, but she had done it before. Kept secrets that wanted to smother her in their enormity.

She shook away the thought, her eyes watching the side of his face instead, committing the sight to memory. His lips curled up into a grin, his eyes blew wide. He turned to her, photograph in hand, green eyes wide in admiration, grin pulled up in perfect surprise. The picture he held was one of her as a little girl, three or four-years-old. She was sitting on a park bench, denim pinafore, white blouse, bright red curls spouting from her head. The messy fizz curled around her tiny face like a warm halo, igniting the blue in her eyes, and signalling her freckles to shine.

It was a cute picture. She reached to take it, inspect it closer, but Owen had a tight hold. ‘You guys are going to have the cutest kids!’ Karen exclaimed watching their faces as they poured over her sister’s little portrait.

Claire froze. Her heart jumped into her throat, rattling like an animal in a cage, threatening to break out. She tried not to react as she started her sister down, Karen didn’t know, Karen couldn’t know. Owen moved onto the next childhood snap, unaware of her internal panic.

She watched them, quietly, trying not to give herself away. Karen was just as oblivious as Owen, her fingers shuffling through sets of photos, recalling anecdotes as they came to mind. Claire exhaled softly, releasing a shaky breath. They didn’t know. She thought Karen had outed her secret. She was pregnant. They couldn’t have known. Her secret was safe for now, which was how she wanted to keep it until she figured out what exactly to do.

‘Hey, I remember that!’ Claire called out, reaching for the photo Karen held. Her sister handed it over, nodding her head as Claire recalled the memory aloud. They were barely teenagers, the both of them, half amused faces, clearly sore, as they stood at the gate to the local ice skating rink. Things went so very wrong for their future selves, but in that moment the sisters couldn’t have been closer, arms around each other, memories made.

It had been a long time since Claire looked back on these things. Small moments from her childhood where she and her sister played. The days their mother attempted to bake, and their father got stuck with cleanup. Homework and chores, playing in the street, petty secrets and lies that neither could keep. She missed it, without ever realising that it had gone, so caught up in hiding herself away after their father died, she’d practically given up.

They would change that, this time. No more disappearing to wither away.

Owen leant over to press a small, unexpected kiss to her cheek. He always knew how to read her thoughts. She was surprised that he hadn’t picked up on her secret yet, their child growing under her skin. He knew, instead, of when she’d made a solid attempt at trying to change, to readjust, to accomodate her sister and nephew’s again.

She smiled at him softly, the look on her face, likely, dreamy. ‘I think my mom definitely has some shots like this,’ He laughed, ‘I’ll get her to send them down’. Claire felt the slight stutter of hope spark in her chest. Maybe, there was a chance that he would stay, his baby pictures next to hers - _next to their baby’s_ \- on the foyer wall.

Claire, for one, couldn’t wait to get her hands on his baby pictures.


	47. #47 - Not So Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Clawen’s first date actually goes very well instead of turning into a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scrunches up nose* I tied.

The sheets beneath her nose smelled like sandalwood and the outdoors, more dirt than grass but not entirely unpleasant. They’re clean too, which settled the nerves in her stomach. Claire lay, disorientated for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, arm dangling off the edge of the unfamiliar bed.

The body behind her moved, grunting softly as the bed shifted and a heavy hand found the back of her thigh. Her body froze. Embarrassingly, she knew that grunt. She knew it a little too well for decency even before what evidently happened last night, happened.

She was in Owen Grady’s bed, the night after their planned date. Claire couldn’t remember if they went or not. What did he have planned, again? She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying not to focus on the warm hand pressed atop her bare skin. There wasn’t even a blur of memory. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Slowly Claire peeled an eye open, spotting her clothes strewn about the floor, answered one of her questions: where they were.

There was a slight trickle of memory when she spotted his dark wash jeans on the floor beside her underwear. He was tall and dashing, all while being casual in those jeans, simple button up. He was stood, outside Margaritaville waiting for her, leaning against the exterior wall, hands in his pockets. She wasn’t thrilled about their destination, but settled, content to know they didn’t have to rush for the last ferry back to the island.

Claire scrubbed a hand over her face, as she let out a small yawn. She turned, slowly, trying not to wake the sleeping man beside her, his hand slipping from her thigh. She pulled the sheets up to her chest, cheeks burning as she looked Owen over.

He was lying on his stomach, blankets caught around his knees, one hand under the pillow, beside his head, the other sitting next to her knee. From there she could see the soft shape of muscle under tanned skin, the slight shift made by his shallow breaths. He inhaled deeply at the end of every minute - she knew because she watched, staring unabashed in the moments that she had. His hair was a curly mess, clearly due for a trim, as blond rings formed across his head.

Claire grinned, their date certainly wasn’t so bad. She had worried, nitpicked every small detail until Zara shoved her out the door, itinerary taken hostage. Claire had no other choice but to let loose and accept the generous glass of wine he bought her upon arrival. She’d have to thank Zara later. Buy her assistant some flowers, without needing to disclose the warm tingly feeling that stretched out, like a lazy cat, across her body.

Chemistry translated in the sheets, at least for them, Owen clearly living up to the bravado he was always such a peacock about. She was starting to remember fine details, her mouth still tingling with the taste of tequila. For once she didn’t care about the drink, or breaking her carefully constructed diet. Instead, she was fighting off a giggle that was not only threatening to break free, but to irritate her. They had sex - on the first date no less. Her cheeks burnt red hot. Had she been that desperate? Did he notice? Or did they just collapse mutually?

She couldn’t hold off the giggle, something in her completely giddy. _She had sex with Owen Grady!_ Claire sobered the second the body beside her grumbled. She needed to leave, to get out before he woke up. Something compelled her to stay. The slight frown on his face and the lure of his curly hair. Claire couldn’t help herself. She reached out slowly, tentatively, fingertips first before she ran her hand through his hair, tracing along his scalp as the strands tangled between her fingers.

Claire was halfway through wondering if she could flatten out the mess when Owen grumbled again, his head jerking softly, his eyes fluttering open. He didn’t say anything, only wrapped and arm around her waist and tugged her into his body, the both of them sinking further into the mattress. Claire squeaked in complaint, before relaxing, liking the warmth of his hold over the empty call of her apartment.

‘I’m surprised you’re still here,’ He mumbled into her hair, light kiss dropped to the top of her ear. Owen, undeniably, took a little longer to wake than she did, his voice still groggy his eyes likely still closed. Claire didn’t mind as much as she thought she would. Cuddling wasn’t something she had ever liked to do with past boyfriends - not that Owen was a _boyfriend_ , she reminded herself - she didn’t mind so much when it was Owen.

Claire hummed, finding his large hand on her hip and pulling it up to tuck under her chin. ‘That date wasn’t so bad,’ He hummed in response, a kiss to her shoulder, ‘It was probably worth sticking around’. He didn’t say anything, only held her tighter. He knew she was a buttoned up control freak on the best of days - hell, it was why he liked to push her buttons - he just didn’t think he’d ever have a chance. Yet, there she was, curled up warm against his chest, her skin flush with his. Even better; Claire Dearing was content to stay.


	48. #48 - Charlie, Elliot, and Braids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen braids his daughters' hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people asked, so here, you have.

‘You gotta do it tight,’ Elliot commanded, hair brush waving in the air. ‘And neater than the last time’. Owen nodded curtly, accepting the brush and ties from his six-year-old. Elliot eyed him wearily for a second, trying to threaten him with just a look. She was as fierce as her mother, even in her ballet getup, green eyes threatening to make his life hell. 

Tapping the space beside him on the couch, Owen laughed. ‘Got it, Squirt.’ She threw herself beside him, body bouncing on the cushions for a second before she settled. Elliot hummed, her shoulders relaxing as Owen brushed her long blonde hair, before parting it to braid. 

Braiding Elliot’s hair was routine. From the day he realised her hair was long enough to criss cross in a basic braid, he made a ritual out of it. Elliot sought her mother out for comfort on more occasions than not, but when she didn’t want Claire, or the times where she wasn’t available; Owen braided Elliot’s hair. 

‘Can I go next?’ Charlie asked, wandering into the room, book in hand. Owen grinned, tongue caught between his lips as he tried to concentrate. Collecting the hair from behind Elliot’s ears and checking his watch, Owen nodded. 

‘Sure can, Charlie Bear.’ He focused on the last couple of twists, Charlie peering over his shoulder as he worked, desperate to learn. Owen twirled the braid into a bun before securing it as best he could. Claire would finish getting Elliot ready once she walked through the door. 

He tapped Elliot’s shoulder letting her know he was done. The little girl ran her hands over her head, gently inspecting before she turned to her father with a grin. ‘Thank you, Daddy!’ She jumped, kissing his cheek before running off. 

Charlie quietly filled her sister’s spot, and pulled the tie from her red hair. Braiding Charlie’s hair had always been easy. The young girl never let her hair get too long, begging for a haircut any time it surpassed three inches below her shoulders. ‘You know, Molly’s daddy doesn’t braid her hair.’ He had a quip about Molly’s dad on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained. ‘I like that you can do our hair, it’s special that way.’ He stopped what he was doing, to press a kiss to the top of her head, thankful for his loving girls. ‘And you’re good at it,’ She told him softly, ‘Better than Mommy’. Owen chuckled, Claire struggled in the braiding department - she never saw a need to learn properly, not with Owen around and his easy talent.

Owen checked over Charlie’s hair, fingers gliding behind her ears to make sure he hadn’t missed a lone strand. Finding she was nothing less than perfect - which was never a surprise - he secured the braid with the tie she’d given him, looped around his wrist. 

‘Daddy!’ Elliot’s voice called from the second floor, voice panicked, feet thudding on the stairs. ‘It fell out, Daddy, it fell out!’ She was a flash of blonde and pink, little body catapulting into the room and throwing herself into Owen’s lap. ‘You gotta fix it! Quick, quick!’ Inspecting what had gone wrong with Elliot’s hair, only provided evidence that the girl had pulled the tie out on her own. In custom Eli style, the girl had a love for repetition, simple actions repeated over and over until she finally got her fix. 

Owen rolled his eyes with a fond smile, before he started again. One third of smooth blonde hair twisted over another, and a third before he repeated it, again. ‘Don’t pull the hair tie out, again, Eli.’

‘I didn’t do it!’ She whined as Owen pulled on her hair, trying to recreate the tight long knot. Charlie hummed, disbelieving the little girl who had a lying tongue. ‘I just need Daddy to do it again,’ she grumbled. He listened to his daughter’s bicker, the noise usually chipping away at his sanity on good days. Owen focused on her hair, braiding it intricately wondering how many time in their lives he had done this, and how many more times would come. How many rainy nights would they sit on the floor, Claire included, reading allowed from a favourite book as he braided the hair of each of his girls. How many warm weathered days would come and go where he was the only one with spare hands, and patience enough to pull his daughters’ hair up from their necks and out of their faces. 

If it was the only service he could provide them, aside from just being there, he’d be happy to know that was it. Braiding their hair wasn’t the worst thing in the world, even if Elliot made him do it over and over again.


	49. #49 - The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brenden here on AO3: asked for a sequelly bit to #46 - Photographs. I hope this is all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd also like to note that this, as it's titled, is the beginning to all my Charlie and Elliot fics.

She didn’t bother flicking the light switch when they stepped in the door, bags over their shoulders, feet dragging across the floor. Minnesota clung to their skin, Zach and Grey’s voices trapped in their heads. Owen smiled the whole way home, boasting about how great it was to see her nephews again. He loved the boys, and they in return, loved him. 

Claire couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in her gut. The secret she was hiding was slowly slipping out of her grasp, paranoia prying it from her fingers, her own biology a vicious traitor. Owen’s bag dropped with a heavy thud to the foyer’s floorboards, his hands instantly on her hips, prying her own bag away. Claire let him, too tired to shrug away, desperate for gentle affection before he hated her. 

His kisses followed a slow, loving trail up the side of her neck while his hands pulled her back against his body, enveloping her in his warmth. Claire couldn’t shake her thoughts as he tried so sweetly to love her. The weekend was stuck in her head, watching Owen run around with her nephews, getting along with her sister. Worst of all, the baby pictures. She tried to put the thought out of her mind since the little pink plus sign, and again after the blood work came back from her doctor. It worked some days, she’d completely forget until she moved too fast or caught a waft of something that had never particularly bothered her before, and then she’d be running to the bathroom to throw up. Owen’s cologne was the worst trigger, which thankfully he went without most days, but used at least once a week just to torture her. 

He turned her slowly, hands skating down her ribs, lips on her collarbone. He couldn’t miss the small catch in her throat, far different from usual breathless desire. Something desperate broke inside her chest, the feeling spilling out against his lips, sour taste on his tongue. 

Her eyes were squeezed shut when he pulled away, hand covering her mouth, tears streaking down her cheeks in the dark light of their home. His heart rate picked up a beat, panic chasing through his bloodstream. ‘Whoa, whoa,’ He dropped one hand to her hip, steadying himself to her, the other chasing shapes around her face, trying to figure out if she was hurt. ‘What’s wrong?’ He’d seen a myriad of emotions displayed across Claire Dearing’s face in the eight months since the Incident on Isla Nublar. Eight months sitting in idle on the coast of Costa Rica, waiting for news, waiting to be let go. Eight months of nightmares and panic attacks, of guilt ridden anxiety. Eight months and Owen thought he had seen every emotion her face could display. What was eating at her now, was new. 

Claire sobbed for a second, her cries almost silent as he stood in front of her, holding her steady, worry beating in his chest. It felt like centuries past them in the dark, a soft heartbreaking noise coming from Claire, Owen practically radiating fidgety energy. He just wanted to solve her problems, to make the world shine again. 

Claire caught her breath, her throat wrenching sobs subsiding into slight hiccoughs. She opened wet eyes to peer at him, scared like a caught lamb. Her whisper was almost nonexistent, Owen had to strain to hear her, but the words were unmistakable; ‘I’m pregnant’. Owen blinked, staring at her pale face in the dark, enough light flowing in from the street that he could make out her features. He expected a look of overdue excitement, and pure joy. There was nothing, she looked morose in her blank expression. His gut churned. He didn’t know how to react. The first response in the back of his head was an ear splitting smile, and a laugh so loud the whole world could hear his joy. 

He dropped to his knees, following an impulsive action that wanted to break away at the seams. Hands on her hips, Owen pressed a kiss to her stomach, a second, a third, until Claire pushed him away, strangled plea on her lips. She was crying again, tears falling in long lines down her cheeks. ‘We can’t have a baby, Owen.’ She stuttered, stepping away from him. He didn’t get up, only stayed on his knees, slightly shocked that she’d pushed him away, rejected his tender excitement. 

‘Why not?’ 

‘You’re leaving,’ He got up then, pulling himself up from the floor only to try and calm her. She was hyperventilating, the breath rushing through her lips too short and shallow. Claire didn’t push him away when he put his hands to her shoulders. She matched her breathing to his without his askance, following a routine they’d created in the dark of a hotel room. 

‘Are you asking me to leave?’ He asked quietly once Claire calmed. ‘I’m not going to leave, Claire. Wasn’t planning on it before this, certainly not planning on it now.’ His mind was reeling. He wanted to know what was going on in her head, and at the same time couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that she was pregnant. They had spoken about kids in passing, once or twice, mostly in relation to her nephews. He knew enough to know she wasn’t ready, to know she was _frightened_ out of her mind and that every doubt she ever had about _anything_ would now be rushing to the surface. And yet, he couldn’t push down the excitement. Owen had seen enough of humanity’s evils to hate it, but Claire had always been a bright light of controlled calm. Having children with her could only improve his life, tenfold.

Claire shook her head, ‘No, Owen, you need to go. I know Masrani Global offered you a position on the East Coast.’ She wasn’t wrong, he had been offered a position in their research sector. Nothing like what he did at Jurassic World, but enough to keep him comfortable for the rest of his life. He’d gotten the email a few weeks ago, Claire asleep beside him in the bed they shared. The thought of leaving her for the other side of the country was unbearable. He turned them down. ‘But, you can’t get work.’ She responded when he told her of his decision. Another thing she wasn’t wrong about, no one really wanted to hire the ex SEAL, or the ex raptor trainer. His options were limited to none, until Masrani requested him. 

Owen shrugged, ‘I’ll broaden my horizons a little … hell, I’ll train Dolphins at Sea World - I’ll reenlist, anything. I’ll do anything to stay here with you, Claire, so long as you’ll let me stay.’He could see the tears bubble up again, her face pinched as she tried to keep them away. Claire stepped towards him, head dropping to his shoulder, her body shaking. Owen didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her tightly, holding her close. 

‘We’re not ready for a baby,’ She hiccoughed against his chest. Claire Dearing was never wrong, but he did live for every opportunity to prove otherwise. Their relationship was still a fledgling, born out of the ashes of desperate nightmares. It wasn’t the best recipe to start a family on, but he was willing to give it a go. 

‘Who cares?’ Owen asked, dropping a kiss to her hair. Everything she did, she did well, there would be no wrongs on this step, this path of their lives. He just needed her to see it. 

Claire pulled away from him to look up at his face, incredulously. ‘I care! Owen, the last long term relationship I had, surpassed a year … we’ve not yet made it to 10 months. A baby … Owen, that’s the rest of our lives.’  

He shrugged again, ‘ _I’ll do anything to stay here with you, Claire, so long as you let me stay’._ He cupped her cheeks, dropping gentle kisses across her face until Claire let out a light giggle. ‘You ran a part full of people, I trained _Velociraptors_ … I think we can handle a baby.’ Claire’s smile was soft, her eyes still full of fright, but the smile was there, it was genuine in it’s gentle nature, it was there. ‘Are we okay?’ He asked softly. 

Claire nodded, ‘We’re okay’. 

‘Good,’ He squeezed her tight. ‘I promise, I’m not going anywhere. I said “for survival”, I meant it.’ 


	50. #50 - 'We're Married'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: A continuation of the ‘I can’t have sex with you, I’m married’ prompt would be great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a minute to say: ‘oh my god, I’ve made it to 50 prompts!’ FIFTY PROMPTS. I still have a ton more in my note book, we’re nowhere near done. I want to thank everyone whose sent in a prompt, I am slowly getting through them all. And I appreciate every single one. Everyone whose left a comment, a kudos, a like, and a reblog - THANK YOU! That kind of stuff keeps people writing. 
> 
> Just all around THANK YOU. To everyone. 
> 
> *shakes table* FIFTY PROMPTS.

Her husband groaned underneath her, body shifting to break away from her playful kisses. She giggled, chasing his fuzzy, frowning cheek. ‘Morning, party boy. How’s your head?’ He grumbled again, turning away from her gentle attack. Owen slid and arm around her waist, tugging gently in an attempt to collapse her against his chest. Her squeak of, ‘coffee’ made him stop, conscious that she was only holding herself up with one arm, mug clearly in the other. 

The mug clanked against the beside table before Claire wound one arm around his neck and the other under his ribs. She snuggled against his chest, grinning at Owen’s hungover protest. ‘How was your night?’ She asked, pressed against his chest, head tucked into his neck. 

Owen grumbled, hand over his eyes, ‘I don’t think I remember it’. Claire chuckled, she wasn’t surprised. His sloppy movements from the night before gave away his position of memory. ‘What’d I do?’ He dropped his hand to her hair, eyes still closed as he petted the top of her head. Her giggles giving away a humorous story his mind wasn’t partial to. 

‘Oh, nothing,’ She sang, tilting her head to kiss the bottom of his jaw. He’d stumbled through the door the night before, drunk out of his mind after a bachelor party. He was handsy, as per the norm - and filthy too - Claire managed to get him to the bedroom before he stopped her. He was married, had been his declaration. He loved his wife too much to betray her. As his wife, Claire couldn’t help the swelling pride in her chest. She had no doubt of Owen’s love, the reassurance was nice though. 

Owen scoffed, ‘Had to be somethin’. You’re acting overly affectionate today.’ He pulled her closer, securing his hold with the one hand on her hip. 

‘I’m always affectionate,’ Claire wiggled against him, fitting herself closer into his side. Owen grunted. He deserved the sharp jab to his ribs Claire deftly delivered. Owen chuckled, nuzzling his face into her hair. She explained to him the previous night, briefly for his desperate ears. 

‘You are my wife.’ His lips found her skin, depositing a hazy kiss to her forehead. 

Claire hummed, ‘I still like hearing it’. They’d only been married a few months, technically still newlyweds with their pre-marital bliss. Claire was convinced that she’d never tire of hearing the word ‘wife’ on Owen’s lips. She wasn’t over that feeling of love that bubbled in her chest and spread across her shoulders and down her legs. It filled her up, made her whole. ‘We’re married,’ She giggled against his skin, smile pulling on his cheeks at the feel of her nose scrunched against his face. That giggle was everything, so completely unexpected from the likes of Claire Dearing, and entirely wholesome once he heard it flutter from her lips. 

She pulled herself away from him, one hand beside his head, the other his chest. ‘I’m going for a run,’ Claire announced, pecking a chaste kiss to his lips. Owen grumbled, lines on his face deepening as he wrapped his arms around her, one sliding under her shirt. His eyes fluttered open to watch her, green drowsy and caught in sleep. He leant up to kiss her, roughly catching her lips with his teeth. 

Claire hummed against him lightly before sinking into his chest, surrendering to his warm hands against her skin. He’d let her down the night before, passing out due to his drunken haze before she could have any fun. Claire wouldn’t risk it now, even if it was only heavy petting, her run could wait. 


	51. #51 - Charlie, Elliot and Lightning Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thunderstorm woke me up about an hour ago. I still can’t go back to sleep, and while wondering if 20 was still an acceptable age to curl up in my mother’s bed, I decided to focus my energy elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was 3am. I'm sorry. 
> 
> Also, I hadn't decided if I was going to add this to the collection or not, I decided that I should. 
> 
> I should probably also give Charlie and Elliot their own collection ... but, eh.

It’s summer, almost three am and particularly bad storm rolls through. The lightning flashes and the thunder snaps. Claire, awake, seeks him out in the dark, pressing her back against his chest. He grumbles, counting under his breath, one … two … three. As predicted two sets of feet thud in the hallway, the door creaks on it’s hinges and Elliot’s little mouth wobbles a frightened little cry.

‘She got scared,’ Charlie tells her parents, standing in the dark doorway, holding her sister’s hand. Brave little Charlie who could sleep through a meteor striking down in the yard outside her window. Charlie, who couldn’t possibly know her sister was scared unless she got up to check. 

Claire shoved at her husband, Elliot’s hiccoughs echoing through the room, encouraging him to get up and get her. The youngest girl squeaked when lightning flashed, igniting the bedroom in white light for a slit second before disappearing again. Her feet thumped against the floor, she didn’t move any closer, caught on the spot in fear - until Owen climbed out of bed to scoop her up.

She settled easily between them, whimper present, as Elliot wrapped a little hand around the strap of her mother’s singlet, and the other around her father’s finger. Charlie waited a beat, sure her sister was content before she climbed up onto the bed and tucked herself under Owen’s arm. 

The storm continued to crackle above their heads, lightning soaking the room with light. Charlie was out, as soon as she closed her eyes, falling easily back into an undisturbed sleep as Elliot grumbled beside her. Claire caught herself in a rhythm as she rubbed Elliot’s back, patting her every few strokes, like she used to when the girl was an infant. She listens quietly, in the flashing dark, to Owen falling back into an easy snore, and Charlie’s quiet breath. She wonders all the time how they got there. That point in their lives where they were happily married with two daughters. She never envisioned that kind of future for herself. A crowded bed in the middle of a thunderstorm, and her whimpering daughter.

Her life with Owen, with Charlie and Elliot. It was far better than anything else she had ever planned. Even on the nights where their bed seemed too small, or their cries too loud. She loved the little niche they carved for themselves in the dark.


	52. #52 - Charlie, Elliot, and Baby Number Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire finds out that she's carrying their third baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for the next update to be Charlie and Elliot related and this was the most recent prompt I had half finished. 
> 
> My canon universe for these girls and their parents is just the four of them. Although sometimes, when I’m on a baby trash binge I find pictures of three little girls and I entertain the idea of Owen Grady and Claire Dearing with three daughters. 
> 
> Canonically, they just have two girls and live happily ever after. I couldn’t help myself from playing into this fantasy though, especially upon request. Just know that a third baby isn’t going to pop up in any other C&E fics.

She could hear her daughters down the hall. Charlie playing her father’s guitar, Elliot shrieking that it _was not_ Ballet music. Her daughters were organised chaos. Bundles of dirt and glitter, baseball practice and ballet. She’d sanctioned them to green and purple stickers on the family calendar; birthday parties, school events, and zoo fundraisers. She loved the constant chaos. It was manageable amongst the four of them. With five, she couldn’t see it working - odd numbers skewed the system and fear climbed her spine. They had lived as five once before, years ago and it didn’t work the universe ripping them apart. 

She fiddled with the positive pregnancy test in her hand, mentally checking off the things that still needed to be done before dinner was cooked and served. That was if dinner was cooked at all. Elliot had a small ballet recital. Claire doubted they’d be home in time for bed and bath routine. Their parenting would lack significantly that night. Junk food and straight to bed. She couldn’t pretend her daughter’s were strangers to a cheeseburger, without turning her eye on the fact that Owen bribed Charlie with them more than once a month. Elliot particularly weak for chicken nuggets and soft serve ice-cream.

She felt bad for caving, for letting them eat junk food. It wasn’t a regular thing, although it did have it’s own routine, and she always tried to pump them full of wholesome foods the day after. Owen only shrugged, he could careless. Their daughters were active, it wasn’t regular - what was the harm?

They had wild girls. Strong-willed and empowered, self-righteous and strong. They had to tie them down, wrap string around their wrists to keep them centred, to keep them calm. Charlie played baseball, as a means to wear her out, she beat the record for quickest rank in their local dojo and arguably the state for karate. They found dance for Elliot, ballet specifically. If given permission the youngest Grady would easily eat, sleep, and breathe ballet. She was obsessed, enthralled and completely occupied. 

They were running out of extracurricular activities and Elliot was only six. Even then, they were running out of hours in the day. 

The bickering down the hall grew quiet, Owen’s voice joining that of her daughters’. She could hear the sound of the guitar changing hands, the music steady, played by practiced hands. He was going to be _hesitant._ For the first time in their lives, Claire wasn’t entirely convinced Owen would be thrilled. He always wanted a small clan, even without saying it she knew. That idea died with Max, Owen learning to accept and understand that they needed to be grateful for what they had. She couldn’t help the small dancing with her worry as she grinned, listening to her daughter’s shriek with laughter, Owen’s voice chanting some old song. He was the Pied Piper, begging for more little ones to follow at his heels. She thought their table full, no one missing aside from the ghost of their son - she could have been wrong. 

Sitting at the window seat, Claire stared idly out at the lazy street they lived on caught in the busy rush of Friday afternoon. They would have to move. Although their home was big, the rooms were small, they couldn’t squish both girls into one room, or force Elliot to share with a new born. They’d lost the guest room when Elliot was born, leaving Karen and the boys to crash on the couch and sleep in the minuscule study when Christmas came around.

The bedroom door swung open, Elliot bursting through in a fit of laughter, Owen hot on her heels. He caught their young daughter, mid jump as she dove for the large bed. Easily, he tucked the little ballerina under his arm, her little legs kicking, her face pink with exertion, laughter still ripe on her tongue.

‘You ready to go soon?’ Owen asked, slightly out of breath, smile spread across his cheeks. Claire nodded softly, they would be early - which, honestly, was better than being late. Owen put Elliot back on her feet, trying to shoo her out of the room while asking if she could remember her positions. 

Instantly her heels were together, and her hands on her hips. Since enrolling her in toddler ballet at age four, this stance had been a common one. It was practically impossible to get Elliot to stand properly - she wanted to stand like a _ballerina._ ‘I can do pirouette’s better than Charlie!’ Elliot beamed, reminding her father that she wasn’t likely to forget anything she was taught at ballet. 

‘That’s because I don’t _do_ ballet!’ Charlie called from down the hall, voice irked and impatient. Their arguments went back and forth, competition’s between the other’s sport. Elliot wouldn’t manage a piece together a fighting stance even if Charlie showed her, just as Charlie didn’t know the five positions of modern ballet. That didn’t stop them from fighting about it. 

Claire paled at the thought of a third child involved in this competition. A child who should have been Max, four-years-old if he had survived and surely toddling after his sisters and their humorous argument. But, this child, just a speck in her belly would be eleven years behind Charlie and six on Elliot. A child who would likely have completely different interests, _yet again,_ and would easily take up the competitive fight. A child, Claire realised, who could very easily be another _boy_ rather than a _third girl_. Maybe they would get lucky in that respect and have an easy going son who liked soccer and didn’t care much for his sister’s arguments. She didn’t know if her heart could take it. 

Clinging to that thought, Claire rose from the window seat ready to face the night. She would tell Owen later, wait until the girls were worn out and put to bed. Wait until he was sagging at the shoulders and complaining about how much work they were, about how much energy they had. And _oh, by the way, Charlie hasn’t finished her maths homework, so that’ll need to be done over breakfast_.

She wanted that shift in his behaviour, his spine straightening, the tired little frown on his face arching up into a wide smile as something brilliant twinkled in his eye. He would be nervous and weary, their track record with pregnancy never a pleasant one. He would be willing to try, able to hold his breath and beg for the best if she felt she was strong enough to do it. She wasn’t so sure. It was Owen Claire was worried about knowing her husband would almost _plead_ for her to go through with this out of the desperation of his weak heart. 

Claire couldn’t deny she wanted to cuddle a newborn again, to feel the warmth of their small bodies and that sweet smell that still lingered as a faint memory in her nose. They could go through it, if only for _hope_. For now, they had Elliot’s recital to sit through enthusiastically before they could call and end to the night and she could tell him.


	53. #53 - Let Her Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire starfishes in bed when she’s really relaxed and leaves almost no room to Owen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really clumsy and I don’t know why. Sorry.

She worked too hard. 

Too god damn hard.  

They both had things they were running from. Things they kept busy to avoid. She pleaded sanity when he broached the subject, desperate to put Jurassic World to rest. Claire didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, she shopped with a Masrani Global credit card. She filled the wardrobe in her bedroom of their shared Costa Rican condo, all on Masrani’s dime. 

She thought they deserved as much, to clothe her, as she sat in conference room after conference room, and swallowed whatever it was they tried to force down her throat. 

Owen hadn’t seen her stop. Six months after the incident and she hadn’t so much as sat down for any longer than ten minutes. He took her meals, when he could, venturing out to Masrani’s Central American headquarters, with dinner in hand. She only ever stopped for a second to thank him with a polite kiss to the cheek, sometimes the corner of his mouth if she was feeling dangerous. She always took a large, greedy, bite of whatever he brought her before she rushed back to tapping at her computer or scribbling notes across a file. He stayed for an hour on those days, folding himself into a chair, or stretching across a couch, watching her work or fiddling on his phone. 

She’d been saying for weeks that the trials were drawing to a close, that Masrani Global had been served their last sentence: every life and injury was compensated. Claire came home everyday with the promise of going back the next. Things just weren’t wrapping up how she wanted them too. He could see the bags under her eyes, despite her tired attempts to hide them away with concealer. She was exhausted, worked to the bone, at a whits end. 

Claire slept in Owen’s room most nights. Never on purpose, but he didn’t have the heart to move her. Although they stole kisses, that was all that had transpired between them since the incident. They had decided to stick together for survival, and eventually convenience but had yet to seal the deal on _who_ they were to one another. Instead, she fell asleep, sitting up right - or admitting her fate, and lying down - as Owen talked about his day, Claire cross legged on his bed, trying to keep up an interest. And she was interested, she did care. She just couldn’t keep her eyes open long enough to hear him to the end.

Owen didn’t mind. He should have slept on the couch those nights. Or carried her to her own bed. He never had the heart to move her, face relaxed in sleep - finally sleeping. She deserved every wink she could get. He certainly didn’t mind when she rolled over in the middle of the night, and cuddled up to him. 

She’d been mumbling something that night, about company paid movers for those staff members caught in Central America throughout the trials. Owen didn’t dare hope that she actually meant it was nearly over. Could they actually move on with their lives? Did he want to? They’d found a quiet corner of Costa Rica that he was somewhat proud of. He wasn’t quite ready to leave it yet. She fell asleep before he could enquire further, leaving their condo in questioning silence, wondering what was going through her head, and how much more she had to work herself to the bone for this company. 

He left her to sleep on her newly claimed side of the bed. There were still dishes in the sink, and the TV had been left on. Things had to be done before he could crash as easily as she did. He flicked the TV off first, not one for ambient noise of late night new reporters and trashy shows. 

They never accumulated an unfair amount of dirty dishes. It was just the two of them and even then, Claire barely ate at home. He finished simple chores quickly, glad for the lack of a workload. He didn’t like to leave her for long, not on nights where she fell asleep that quickly. Nightmares were scarce now, and would continue to disappear the further they moved away from the incident. They were less frequent, but just as fierce, hoarse screams ripping through her throat as she fought against his gentle hands on her arms. 

Owen flicked off the lights, shutting the house down for the night as he slumped back towards his bedroom. Out of habit he threw a glance toward her open door, finding the room dark and empty as he passed. 

Claire was still snoozing in the soft glow of his bedside lamp, almost exactly how he had left her. Just as she couldn’t sit still, Claire Dearing could barely sleep in one position without tossing and turning at least twenty times a minute. He found her on his bed, like he expected her, arms and legs spread across the bed, leaving practically no desirable space. He was left with small corners, or to lie horizontally across the bottom of the bed. She would be too short to reach him down there, unless she sensed his body heat and wiggled her way beside him in her sleep. It had happened before.  

Owen sat down beside her, fitting himself into a largish space on his side of the bed. Because, even though their sleeping arrangements were unofficial - by words - they had their reserved spaces. He watched her for a second, caught in the even rise and fall of her breath. He needed to wake her, to get her to at least roll over. Owen couldn’t bring himself to do it, he never could. She barely slept as it was. Looking at the clock, he knew she only had seven hours before she had to be at the office again, her sleep would be disrupted, she’d be moody and upset. She would probably storm off to her own room, retreating to old sheets just to spite him. 

He carded a hand through her soft red hair as he watched her gentle face. He really needed to move her, or even lift an arm enough for him to slide in under it. Owen couldn’t bring himself to do it.

For now, he’d let her sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that my inbox on tumblr (poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com) is open for Christmas prompts. That’s all I will be posting throughout December. 
> 
> Of course, I can’t do every Christmas prompt that I get. But, I have four weeks to try.


	54. #54 - Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Your last clawen story was SO ADORABLE. OMG I hope you continue that one!! Even if it’s just cute breakfast with flirty banter or something. UGH I DIE OF CUTENESS.
> 
> In relation to #47 - Not So Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get one last non festive fic up before it becomes December 1st tomorrow. Don’t forget I’ll be posting Christmas-y fics throughout December, and only throughout December.

Early mornings in the kitchen of his bungalow had become a small ritual. 

It had only been a handful of weeks. Short enough to feel new, yet long enough that she couldn’t quite remember where they started. His bungalow, although atrocious, was cosy. The warm morning light set it aflame in an orange glow, stretching across linoleum and licking kitchen cabinets. It crawled across his bed, sneaking through open blinds to kiss at her face, pulling her eyes open gently. 

His small kitchen was somewhat cramped, but served it’s light purposes. Claire learnt quickly that Owen could cook, far better than she could. Which was not at all, if she was being honest. 

It took some getting used too, his bungalow, the almost rustic sound of dinosaurs calling out in the night. The windows were soundproof in the employee block. Claire slept comfortably in the silence of her apartment, adjusting to the wilderness surrounding Owen’s home, was a lot easier than she initially thought. The dinosaurs were locked away, held within the toughest walls money could buy. Besides, if there was anyone on that island she wanted to face dinosaurs with, it was Owen. She trusted him irrevocably. 

Without realising, Claire thrived in his quiet little corner of the world. She thought the small spaces would suffocate her, that his Alpha personality would hold her down. He was nothing but warm, and loving, as gentle as the rising sun, as kind as the green grace under her toes, and as consistent as the lake he lived beside. 

She was pulled from her reverie by large hands sliding across her hips, pulling her against a familiar chest. Claire hummed, hands wrapped around a coffee mug as she exhaled deeply, leaning into Owen.

‘Morning,’ He dropped a kiss to her cheek, holding her tightly for a second longer before breaking away. Claire hummed back the greeting, pressing her own kiss to his skin as she slid a full mug towards him; coffee already prepared. ‘I knew there would be perks to keeping you around,’ Owen teased, taking his mug with gratitude. 

She always woke before him, no matter what. She brewed the coffee, poured it out, and usually left for whatever meeting was scheduled at 7am. He didn’t know when they became quite so domestic, but knew it had something to do with Claire and her meticulous organisation. It only made sense, to keep a spare change of clothes at his bungalow, casual and work attire, for the nights he persuaded her to stay over. It made the rush in the morning a little slower, allowing him to savour her a few seconds longer. 

It was only an added bonus that she always made an extra mug of coffee, just how he liked it. 

‘Got time for breakfast?’ He asked, sliding past her to peruse the fridge. 

Claire nodded, ‘I’ve got all day.’ She told him softly, small grin biting into her cheeks. ‘I, ah, took the day off.’ Owen’s head nearly snapped clean off, he turned to look at her so fast. Claire never took a sick day, she never took an allocated free day either. This was new. He felt the grin creep across his face as he approached her slowly. ‘Migraine,’ She feigned, matching his grin. 

Owen pulled her against him, hands on her waist, kiss dropped to the side of her neck. ‘Why don’t we go back to bed, then?’ He fluttered kisses across her skin, listening to the slight purr that vibrated from her lips. His hands pushed at her hips, guiding her backwards, out of the kitchen and back into the hall. 

‘You still have to go to work, Owen.’ The sound he made came from deep inside his throat, almost a growl as he pulled her down to the bed. 

‘Migraine,’ He mumbled, half on a chuckle as he bit into her collarbone. Claire’s laugh was swallowed by a moan as she tangled her hands in his hair, smile pressed against his cheek. 

She once had her doubts about Owen Grady, thought things between them would be impossible. Their tension was undeniable, but not always a smart move. With Owen settled between the cradle of her hips, his lips trailing down her chest, Claire was glad for the mornings she had with him. For the decision that he wasn’t so bad, and that together they were a quiet force to be reckoned with. 

 


	55. #55 - Charlie, Elliot, and Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ughjianna: It's Christmas and Claire and Owen's children are spying out for Santa. But, Owen dresses up as Santa. Then, Claire comes in and they kiss. Then the next morning the kids tell their parents that they saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, it's December. All prompts posted this month will be Christmas related. I'm going to try to get as many done as I can. But, come January 1st, Christmas is done. 
> 
> Any non Christmas related prompts, will still be accepted throughout December. They just won't be filled until January/whenever I get to them.

‘I’m gonna catch him,’ Charlie told her mother, voice sleepy as Claire tucked her in for bed. It was Christmas Eve and the girls were restless, sugar settled deep in their stomachs, excitement burning their lungs. It was always an event, Christmas Eve and bedtime. Especially once Charlie reached four. After that there was no more controlling the excitement. Three years of it, and they were still unprepared.

She hummed softly, ‘Oh I’m sure, Charlie Bear - but first you need to go to sleep. Father Christmas won’t come until he knows you’re asleep’. Charlie frowned, crinkle biting into her brow. She shook her head slightly, arms crossing over her chest. 

‘He has to come! What if I can’t help not sleeping _all_ night?’  

Claire hummed, shrugging nonchalantly towards her daughter’s question. If Charlie didn’t close her eyes and go to sleep, she would never be able to help Owen finish wrapping the girls’ gifts. ‘Well, we’ll just not have Christmas. I’m sure there are some less fortunate children who’d love your gifts.’ 

Charlie’s jaw dropped, her young eyes blowing wide.’Nah-ah! We gotta have Christmas!’ 

‘What? There aren’t little boys and girls who would like some extra toys?’ Charlie shook her head defiantly, protesting that she had been a _very_ good girl _all_ year _._ Charlie’s behaviour was always debatable. She was their precious first daughter, sighing apple of Owen’s eye, and petulance for not doing directly what she is told. ‘Okay, little one, close your eyes.’ Claire ignored her, knowing that Charlie would argue with her all night, if given the opportunity. The girl fought her, stubborn line thinning across her lip. 

Claire fidgeted, impatient for her daughter to listen. If she was in that room any longer, she would risk Elliot waking up. Once the toddler was up, they were doomed. The youngest Grady girl could put her sister’s stubbornness to the test. Although Elliot was still young enough that they could entertain her with a new toy while Charlie slept, the fact that Owen was in the garage _dressed_ as Santa Claus was not going to help. There was no way she could deal with the toddler if Charlie’s incessant arguing didn’t stop.

Charlie huffed softly, grumbling a small, _fine_ and _goodnight_ before rolling over to face the wall. Readjusting her daughter’s blankets, Claire dropped a kiss to the top of Charlie’s head before leaving the room. Elliot was fast asleep, in the small corner, set up in a portable cot so she could share Christmas morning with her sister. 

Turning off the hallway lights, Claire crept down the stairs and rounded into the living room. She could hear music softly, no longer Christmas carols, but a mixtape of Owen’s favourite rock bands. Claire rolled her eyes, _of course_. 

She had not noticed, the slight creak of the floorboard, just beside the stair landing. Claire had pestered Owen to fix it ever since they brought Elliot home; two years ago. It had started to drive her mad, waking their newborn just as she was putting her to sleep. Living for years with a squeaky floorboard almost made her deaf to it.

Owen, in his Santa Claus outfit emerged from the garage, arms stacked full of presents. ‘Sorry, no, wrong house. My daughter’s aren’t that spoiled.’ Claire laughed, pushing at his arm as she looked back at the already filled tree, teeth sinking into her lip. Had they gone overboard? It wasn’t hard too. They bribed Elliot’s good behaviour towards the end of the year with ‘ _things to go away for Christmas_ ’. Charlie, too, although she was far more likely to remember and be impatient, over her baby sister. 

Owen only chuckled, ‘You can still see the floorboards between gifts. Relax. They’re not going to turn rotten for having as many gifts as toes’. He studied him for a moment, watching as he moved to drop the newly wrapped gifts by the tree. Claire couldn’t help her laugh as he struggled with the face white beard attached to his face. She could tell it was bothering him, scratching at his cheeks and ears. Owen refused to take it off, he thought it fun to dress as Saint Nicolas as he wrapped the last of their daughter’s gifts, those especially left behind by _Santa Claus himself._

‘Come here, you silly man’. Claire laughed, having enough of him scratching at his face. Tugging her husband towards her, one hand on the lapel of his costume, the other on his faux beard. She tugged at the stringy un-hairlike fabric, to reveal his grinning face. Owen didn’t hesitate to lean in and kiss her, his hands on her hips, her infuriatingly amused.

Neither noticed the little girls on the second floor landing, peering through the staircase’s railing.

* 

He didn’t know why she always offered to host Christmas. Claire ran around mindlessly, making sure everything was perfect, while she timed him to the second in the kitchen. For a host that couldn’t cook, he was surprised the family kept turning up. 

They didn’t always host. Some years they spent Christmas with Karen and the boys, or Owen’s parents. Lorna even hosted once, in her small apartment for Charlie’s first Christmas. 

Claire, although driven half mad with the stress; loved hosting Christmas. 

Elliot was curled up on the couch beside her Aunt Lorna. An arm was curled around a stuffed Elephant; a gift for Charlie, the youngest at embezzled. Much to her mother’s dismay, the toddler had her little thumb in her mouth. She was listening intently to the story Lorna was reading, another new gift from Santa, this one intended for Elliot. 

Charlie sat on the floor, by the tree with Gray, trying to copy the pictured instructions from a LEGO manual. 

Their group was small that year. Only Karen, the boys, and Lorna. Owen’s parents were overseas with Travis and his family, diving their small group in half. It was better that way, less pressure for Claire, leaving her time to laugh with Karen in the kitchen while Owen chatted with Zach.  

‘Aunt Karen?’ Charlie asked, having abandoned her LEGO to wander into the kitchen. Climbing up onto an empty stool at the bench, Charlie leant against the counter, Christmas cookie in her hand. ‘Did you ever kiss Santa Claus?’ She asked innocently, eyes quickly darting across every face in the room, trying to gauge their reactions before they thought about lying to her. Karen shook her head with a laugh, telling the girl that she had not. ‘Then why did Mommy?’ 

Karen looked to her sister, Claire sputtering over her tea. 

‘Why weren’t you in bed?’ Claire tried to save herself, throwing a glare towards her laughing husband. 

Half chewing on the biscuit in her mouth, Charlie retorted, ‘That’s not important’. There was no way they could talk themselves out of this, not without being honest. Charlie was watching her father out the corner of her eye, somewhat concerned that he was laughing at her revelation. She expected him to be upset. Claire sighed, leaning her elbows against the counter so her face was level with her daughter. 

She didn’t want to ruin Christmas. She didn’t want to tell Charlie that Santa Claus wasn’t real. She could be honest, without being completely honest. ‘It wasn’t Santa, Charlie, it was Daddy.’  

The girl shook her head, ‘Nah-ah, it was Santa Claus! I saw!’ She was insistent, describing the clothes he wore. She had read books and seen movies, she _knew_ what Santa was supposed to look like.

‘You know how Daddy likes to think he’s funny?’ Claire asked, half glaring at her husband. Charlie nodded her head. ‘He thinks it’s fun to dress up like Santa.’ The young girl looked towards her father, accepting the gentle nod and humorous shrug, he offered her. 

‘Sorry, Kiddo,’ Owen apologised.

‘So, mommies don’t _have_ to kiss Santa?’ It was Claire’s turn to laugh softly, as she gave her daughter a reassured smile. If that were a custom, they would certainly not be partaking in Christmas at all. Satisfied, Charlie slipped down from the counter, new cookie in her hand. 

Once Charlie had rejoined Gray, her little voice demanding him to _build faster,_ Claire turned to Owen. ‘That costume is going in the trash, _tonight_.’ Owen gave his wife a small salute, followed by, 

‘Yes, Ma’am’. The costume was fun while it lasted, and as much as he enjoyed it, he didn’t want to shatter his daughter’s sweet innocence towards Christmas. He still believed they could make it another couple of years before she either stopped believing in Santa Claus, or was told the truth. 

For now, they had their quite little Christmases, the house teeming with loved ones, the girls spoiled year after year. He wanted to cherish that, Claire too, their daughters in their innocent youth, taking Christmas for all of it’s magical joys before they knew the truth.

 


	56. #56 - Meeting the Gradys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurelian: Could you do one where Claire brings Owen to see her parents or vice versa and just put it in an extra long family fluff kinda like you did with ‘Claire Bear’ 
> 
> &
> 
> ANON: Owen asks Claire to spend Christmas with him and his family. Owen's mom tells Claire that she's the first girl he's ever brought home to meet her and fluff ensures.

If anyone should have been nervous, it was Claire. The walk up to his parent’s family home - the home Owen was raised in - was long and daunting. She was calm. Owen, however, was practically twitching with nervous energy. Claire took his hand, easily, squeezing it briefly as she pulled him up the path.

The curtains in the front window ruffled, Christmas light scattering out onto the grass, dancing momentarily in bright colours before it went dark again. The door flung open before they could even step up to it. A young woman stood in front of them, hands on her hips. ‘Owen Grady, as I live and breathe. Gotta say, I expected those dinosaurs to eat you.’ 

‘Lorna,’ Owen chuffed, ‘Pleasure, as always. Bring a date?’ She nodded, brown hair bouncing against her shoulders. Claire tensed beside him, worried that they wouldn’t even make it through the door before conflict arose. His mother agreed that the family would call it quits for a night, the bad blood pushed aside in order to reconnect. Worried things would get out of hand, Claire pressed a steady hand to Owen’s shoulder, the other gripping tightly to his fingers. 

Lorna Grady’s laugh caught Claire off guard. ‘You should see this one, Bro.’ Lorna groaned, ‘Shame it won’t last.’ Owen squeezed Claire’s hand as he laughed, stepping forward to hug his sister good-naturedly. He introduced the women, _Claire, Lorna. Lorna, Claire_. She smiled softly, not expecting the hug she received from the young woman. While Owen explained his sister’s inability to keep a partner any longer than six months. ’Thanks for being the one to finally bring my brother home. Thought we’d never see his face again.’ Lorna squeezed her, voice loud enough for Owen to hear as Claire nodded her head, explaining that it was no issue. 

But, there was an issue. Sitting under the surface, heating the heels of her feet, snaking up her legs. Owen hadn’t spoken to his family in years, _years_. She had criticised him for that, gobsmacked that the lines of communication had been dropped. Claire, herself, was a hypocrite, and Owen knew it. A line had been drawn in the sand for her, she and Karen rebuilt the bridge of their sisterly bond. She even learnt to reserve time for her nephews, showing interest in Gray’s intelligence, and Zach’s college applications. 

‘Lorna, who is it?’ An older voice called out, warm and kind, feminine and soft. The woman kept talking, her words nonsense before they drifted off, caught in her throat. She was a short, plump woman, Claire could easily pinpoint as Heather Grady. Caught in the hallway of her home, son and daughter in the doorway, she couldn’t help the shriek that escaped her throat. 

The woman threw herself at her son, arms wrapping around his waist as she squeezed him tightly before stepping back to take him in. Heather tutted, fussing, hands fluttering over his clothes. ‘Look at you! My boy, so thin!’ Owen rolled his eyes, head turned to smile at Claire. Heather shrieked again when she followed her son’s line of sight, eyes on Claire she reached for the woman. ‘And you must be Claire!’ Just like with Lorna, Claire didn’t expect the hug Heather enveloped her in, nor the same scrutiny she studied with. ‘What did they feed you on that island?!’ It had almost been a year since the incident kicked them off Isla Nublar, and forced them together _for survival._ ‘Come, come,’ Heather tugged on their arms, pulling Owen and Claire into her side before pulling them into her home. ‘Thank you for bringing him back, dear.’ Heather beamed towards Claire, hand wrapped around her arm. 

It was the second time in ten minutes that she had been thanked for pushing Owen towards communicating with them again. She really wasn’t the one to thank, Owen decided on his own. She just nudged him in the right direction. 

He called his mother months ago, keeping up a regular schedule from then on out. Heather didn’t expect him to show up for Thanksgiving dinner, hence her surprise. And yet, here they were, Lorna and Heather both thanking Claire personally for his return. 

A low whistle greeted them as Heather led them into the large kitchen and dining space Claire recognised from so many of Owen’s old photos. Chair legs scraped across wooden floorboards as the body to the whistle stood from their seat. ‘Well, I’ll be damned, look what the cat dragged in!’ 

‘Travis,’ Heather scorned without batting an eyelash as she fussed over Owen and Claire, her voice exasperated as she muttered again, ‘ _Really who_ has _been feeding you two?’_

‘Does Dad know you’re here?’ Travis asked, standing from his place at the table, his wife, Jane still sitting in her seat. 

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in Australia?’ Owen fought back. Lorna sent him the occasional text message, never anything important, just a flicker of contact, always on birthdays, always on holidays. Travis used his reassignment to Sydney to drop contact with his rouge older brother. ‘Hey, Janey,’ Owen moved around his brother to greet his sister-in-law with a kiss on the cheek and a fond hug. Jane always levelled out his sometimes hot headed brother, she was good for Travis, Owen admired her for that.

Heather had kidnapped Claire by the time Owen straightened his back and brushed his brother off for the second time. The redhead was at his mother’s counter, readily accepting the food Heather was handing her. Claire grinned up at him from her place beside his mother, humouring Heather as she nodded her head, sneaking a slice of pumpkin pie. 

Lorna excitedly introduced Owen to Bianca, her date for the night - and past four months. She was beautiful, tall, blonde, honey skinned. Beach babe pulled right from the waves. She smiled shyly, mouth still wide as she shook his hand firmly. This girl was different to the other conquests of Lorna’s that Owen had met. She had a fire, a fight in her eyes. He saw that in Jane, the same drive that enabled her to put up with Grady family dramatics. He saw it too, in Claire, grinning at him from the kitchen counter, his mothers mash potatoes in her hand. She waved shyly when Lorna shouted her name, introducing her loudly to Bianca, followed by missed introductions to Travis and Jane, as well.

There had been very few people in his life who could put up with them: the Grady’s. Together or alone. And there was Claire, already helping his mother in the kitchen, nibbling on everything rather than being helpful - which was a good thing, honestly. Claire could burn water. 

Owen remembered days as a boy, sneaking into the kitchen to pinch food from the bench as his mother prepared it. She always shooed him away with a slap on the hand. She continued to do it, back when he visited for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Here, with Claire, she didn’t bat an eyelash. His mother wasn’t like that. Not even with her own children. Let alone girlfriend’s at family dinner.

She was already at home here with his family, practically favoured above his siblings.

It hit him in the gut. Like the first time his father ever threw him a baseball and he failed to catch it. He was knocked to the ground that day, still a toddler, his father’s throw a little out of line. She was it. Like Jane was for Travis. Like Bianca would surely be for Lorna, if his sister ever opened her heart enough to accept it. _Claire was it for him_. Owen shook his head, trying to keep the mystified look off his face before she noticed from across the room, or worse, before Lorna noticed at all. 

A thud sounded from the hallway, causing quiet chatter to stop as all heads turned towards the door. Owen had a good childhood, his parents were loving, he had everything he could have asked for. And although his father was a kind man, he was also a stern one. Nothing had changed in the three years since Owen cut off his ties to his family, starting with his father’s disapproval. 

John Grady didn’t say anything to his family, only looked his eldest son in his eye before taking his place at the dining table. 

‘So, tell me, Claire, is my boy good to you?’ Heather asked, trying to bring back the chatter in the room. Claire flicked her eyes towards Owen, small smile pulling at her lips. She hummed in response, he was good to her. 

‘You know,’ Claire giggles, ‘Considering our first date, I can’t quite believe we’re here’. She chuckled through a recount of their first date once Heather asked, flinching slightly when the woman shouted Owen’s full name across the room. 

‘Board shorts! On a date! Owen Christopher Grady, I raised you better than that.’ Claire blanched, she didn’t think Heather would call him out. Respond with shock, yes, but the reprimand was unexpected.

‘Ma!’ Owen complained from the dining table, smile on his face. ‘It was hot!’ 

‘I don’t care if the whole place was on fire, you dress nice, you take her to dinner, you feed the skinny girl, for God’s sake!’ She poked at Claire’s ribs on the last statement. Owen had told her about how his mother loved to feed him, and his siblings as children. They were plump, and that was exactly how she liked them. Claire didn’t realise Heather would do the same for her. ‘I should have known I missed something with that boy,’ Heather tutted, focusing on cutting salad vegetables in front of her. ‘He never, _never,_ brought girls home. Until you.’ Something in her chest jumped and she couldn’t quite figure out if it was a good feeling or a bad one. 

Heather was grinning, the smile on her face seemingly permanent. She busied herself, handing tasks over to Claire as she chatted beside her, unaware that Owen was slowly approaching the kitchen island. She was carrying on about something, Owen never quite knowing what was the best decision and what was the worst, that Claire was seemingly a very good decision. Owen only rolled his eyes, of course his mother thought that, Claire was helping her in the kitchen, she was eating the food provided to her with a simple, thankful, smile. None of Lorna’s partner’s ever managed to do that. And as for Travis, he and Jane had known each other since High School, she learnt to adapt to his mother’s ways. 

‘What about babies?’ Owen caught the end of his mother’s question, worried eyes drawn to Claire’s face as he wrapped an arm around her waist. ‘Oh, calm down,’ Heather laughed, tapping her son’s arm. Owen had half stepped in front of Claire, as though it was possible to shield her from his mother’s question. They barely managed to live together without driving the other mad. He loved her, he _knew_ it. They just hadn’t talked about weddings and babies and life that would extend far beyond Christmas Eve. Owen was ready for anything, it was just Claire he worried about. She meant too much to him to have his mother scare her off. ’You don’t need to protect her,’ His mother tapped his arm affectionally.

‘I think you’ve interrogated her enough,’ Owen argued, trying to defend the sometimes flighty Claire. Besides, if his mother asked all the big questions now what would be left for next year. 

Lorna snuck up behind them, pinching a platter from the counter, and begging her mother for dinner to be announced. She disappeared as quickly as she had materialised, snapping Heather’s tether on Claire. She rushed food into their hands, shooing them away to set the table before coming back for more. It was as Owen took a plate from Claire’s hand, that she spoke, smiling softly, pink growing across her cheeks.

‘Maybe not just yet, but I’d like to think we’ll have kids someday.’ Owen froze, he didn’t expect that kind of response. Hell, she had been given the opportunity to not answer at all. He was suddenly all too aware of his heart beating a little to hard in his chest. His mother squeaked, just slight enough to not draw anyone’s attention but his and Claire’s. She moved quickly to hug the woman, commenting once again that she was too thin.  _Too thin for grand-babies._  

He placed a kiss to Claire’s cheek when they finally took their seats at the table. Christmas carols played softly behind them, his mother’s cooking on the table in front of him, Claire to his left, his sister to his right. Travis and Jane sat across from him, whispering their soon to be announced secret between themselves. 

Owen had been nervous about introducing Claire to his family, stepping back into the home environment right in the middle of the holidays. They were full on and intimidating any day of the year, let alone Christmas Eve. Meeting the Grady’s, for Claire, was smooth sailing, his mother adored her the second she laid eyes on her, and she sat easily with his siblings. 

This was it. This was family.


	57. #57 - Charlie, Elliot, and a Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: Owen tries to choose a Christmas tree with Charlie and Elliot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the word tries in the sense that it would be a struggle. Because with these girls everything is a bargaining chip or slight argument in defiance.

He was holding a standoff with a two-year-old, Elliot attempting to hide behind a tree smaller than her shoulders as she frowned. The lines were deep set on her young face, pulling down in straight creases across her brow, deepening green eyes.

‘C’mon, keep it moving, Squirt.’ Owen tried to encourage the little girl forward, hand beckoning her as he watched for Charlie over his shoulder. He was suddenly realising how much of a terrible idea this had been. Not only were the girls a handful, just for being small children, but Elliot was embracing her ‘terrible twos’ with open arms.  

‘No,’ She grumbled back at her father, little arms crossed over her chest. She was defiant, if anything. Which had been surprising. Elliot was their quiet little girl, patient, soft spoken. Charlie was the one who climbed the furniture and drove them mad, not Elliot. 

‘Ellie, c’mon we won’t get a good tree!’ Charlie called out to her sister, slapping her hands down at her sides in frustration. She was itching to race off into the trees, feet slapping dirt as trunks grew thicker and taller, limbering above her head, high up into the skies.  

Elliot frowned deeper. ‘Mommy,’ She pouted harder, her bottom lip pushing out as far as it would go as she scowled. 

Owen shook his head, ‘Mommy’s at work. We’re making a surprise, remember?’ He would have offered her the phone, called Claire as they sat in the dirt, Elliot refusing to look at him. She couldn’t be trusted, although it was rare that Elliot spoke more than one word, she would undoubtably rat them out to her mother. 

He had decided to take it upon himself, and his daughters, that year to fetch the tree without Claire’s incessant asking. In fact, she’d been so busy at work that she hadn’t even noticed the time of year, or that the tree would usually have been up three days ago if she wasn’t so stressed out. So they ventured out, tucked the girls into the truck and drove to the best tree farm in the state.

Charlie was ecstatic, Elliot not so much.

‘We’re gonna miss the good tree!’ Charlie cried out, again. ‘Stop being a slow poke!’ She whined, tantrum on the tip of her toes. Charlie and Elliot tended to play off each other. When one was upset, the other always seemed to follow - out of frustration. 

Owen turned, not quite taking an eye off Elliot as he tried to abate Charlie. ‘We’ll get a tree, Charlie, just _wait.’_ He hadn’t realised, until he blinked, that he held and arm out to each daughter, palms facing them, how he had always done with his raptors, keeping them in line, centred, under control. Owen shook his head, ‘We can watch Little Einstein’s when we get home,’ he tried to bargain. Elliot blinked, head tilting softly, little blonde pigtails bobbing against her ears. ‘Do we have a deal?’ Owen asked, repeating his words; Little Einsteins if they managed to pick a tree and get home within the next hour and a half. 

Elliot nodded as she stepped out from behind the tiny tree. ‘This one?’ She asked, flashing bright green eyes and a toothy smile as she pointed at her little tree. Owen shook his head, only to find she was scowling again.

‘It’s too small,’ he held up his hands, shrugging his shoulders - an action he had picked up from the youngest Grady herself. She stared him down for a second, watching him with a critical eye, before Charlie called out, further away than she had been the last time Owen checked. ‘Hey, Ellie?’ He whispered, leaning towards her, ‘Race ya to Charlie?’ Elliot looked at him, green eyes tracing the lines of his face, before she tilted slightly, to peer after Charlie, already way ahead of them. Elliot grinned, the smile bursting across her young face before she let out a squeal of a laugh and raced off for her sister.  

*

‘This one, Daddy!’ Charlie decided, doing another loop of the tree before standing back, to admire it, hands on her hips. Children were often the echo of their parents, he knew that, and yet it caught him off guard every time. Charlie admiring her tree was just like Claire, _exactly_ like Claire. Which is likely where she got the action from. Six years of tree hunting, she had to notice how her mother decided upon the perfect tree. 

‘Are you sure?’ Owen asked, standing beside her, Elliot on his shoulders. It was a little under 9 foot, Fraser Fir, taller and slender in comparison to some of the others they’d looked at. Claire would kill him for bringing a tree that large into their home. The ceilings were high, she just didn’t like the extensive upkeep.  

Charlie nodded beside him, ‘Absolutely! Mommy’s gonna love it!’ She carried on, talking about tinsel and lights, baubles too. Decorations of every kind and every colour until she settled on a solid design. 

‘Chop, chop!’ Elliot giggled, tapping her hands on her father’s head. Tree decision: made. He made quick work of cutting down the tree, a seasonal expert by now, Charlie and Elliot standing by in the snow, holding hands, as requested. 

There was something he loved about sitting in the truck with his girls, tree tied down on the cargo tray, the smell of Christmas engulfing them while Charlie sang along to Christmas carols on the car radio. 

Elliot forgot all about the promise of Little Einsteins, instead the music transferred from the car to the living room stereo once Owen set the tree in it’s reserved spot. He dragged in the boxes of Christmas decorations, letting Charlie and Elliot run free with their bright creativity. He knew, without a doubt, that Claire would ‘fix’ it all while they slept. They wouldn’t notice. Or at least he hoped they wouldn’t notice. 

The house was Christmas coloured chaos. 

He was putting a casserole into the oven when he heard the front door click open, little voices calling out a joyous, ‘mommy!’ He joined his daughter’s as soon as the oven door was closed, the temperature set accordingly before he followed their voices.  

Claire was standing in front of the tree, Elliot on her hip, Charlie holding her hand at her side, directing her mother to look at _specific_ spots in the decoration. Owen kissed his wife’s cheek, marvelling in the way she leant into him, shoulder leaning against his chest as she hummed. 

‘I forgot about the Christmas tree,’ Claire sighed, turning to him with a lazy smile. Charlie was still talking, about blue tinsel and white, and the princess baubles Elliot added to the tree, which _she did not like._

Owen smiled, half rolling his eyes at his daughter as he shrugged. ‘We’ve got you covered.’ 

Claire kissed him, just for his efforts. ‘Evidently.’ 


	58. #58 - Charlie and the Christmas Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen and Claire tell their families on Christmas that she's pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Charlie's birthday sits in September, I couldn't exactly fit this prompt to her. So, Elliot it is.

They wanted to do it quietly, away from the hullabaloo of cousins and second aunts. Owen’s family always managed to fill Christmas far more than hers ever did, Claire still found it slightly intimidating. She was used to quiet, intimate Christmases, just her sister and her parents. 

Owen had agreed to do it quietly, understanding Claire’s want for a small gathering rather than a big one. Instead, they congregated around his mother’s kitchen island after Heather’s compulsory Christmas Eve dinner. They always exchanged small gifts, just before bed, usually pyjamas and a new plush animal for Charlie. No one so much as flinched when Claire slid a box and an envelope across the bench, one for her sister, and one for her mother-in-law. Owen’s father sat quietly beside his wife, like he always did, nursing his last beer for the night and not adding to the conversation. He attended to Charlie when the girl looked over, dancing her new toy fox across the bench just to make her laugh. 

Owen couldn’t hide his grin as the women kept talking, both excited for the arrival of Gray in the morning. He watched Charlie instead, knowing that if he bore holes into the side of his mothers face, she would almost guess the surprise. His daughter had her little arms wrapped round his forearm, small fingers tracing the lines of his tattoos as her head leant heavily against his bicep. He dropped a kiss to the top of Charlie’s drooping head, bright red hair tickling his chin as he did so. 

Claire was tense beside him, anxious energy radiating off her in waves. He reached his spare hand out, curling it around her waist to squeeze her hip. She was watching his mother intently, Heather slowly sliding the lid up off the top of the box before settling it back down again. Karen was still talking about Gray. 

‘Daddy?’ Charlie turned in his lap, her little hands reaching up to tap his fuzzy cheeks. She yawned before she could tell him she was tired, her head falling against his shoulder as all three women stopped their discussion about the Mitchell boys and college. 

Claire reached out for her daughter, skating a hand through Charlie’s loose red curls as she watched her sleepy eyes flutter. ‘Hang in there, baby. Aunt Karen and Nana have to open their presents’. 

‘Tomorrow.’ She grumbled, deciding control over everyone else as her father rubbed soothing circles over her back. He implored her to wait only for a few more moments while her grandmother promised to hurry. 

Heather froze, fingers curled under the lid of her box, half off - revealing the contents. Confusion buried itself in her brow as her eyes flickered over the grey and yellow onesie, booties to match. Karen’s gift, a small envelope was opened while Heather pondered her gift, mouth slightly open, Claire’s name forming a question on her lips. 

The squeal that left Karen’s mouth caused her niece to jump unexpectedly, little heart racing against her father’s chest as she grunted in protest. Karen stared at her sister, small slip of glossy paper in her hand, the other covering her mouth, holding back another squeal as her eyes watered. Heather took the picture from Karen, instantly recognising the grainy image of a sonogram. 

‘A baby?!’ The tears were instant, rushing down her face as she jumped up from her stool. ‘You’re pregnant?!’ Claire nodded softly in confirmation, slipping off her own stool in preparation of the onslaught she was about to receive. Karen kept back, allowing Heather to be the first to move. She pushed past her husband and son in order to get to Claire, eyes already red and puff with tears, her cheeks pinned in a permanent grin. ‘Oh, Claire,’ She sighed softly, squishing her daughter-in-law with a tight hug.

Owen’s father had gotten up from his spot too, only to move closer to Charlie, gently asking into the girl’s excitement towards her new brother or sister. Charlie, as charming as ever, politely informed her grandfather that she was not excited, _not one bit_. They told her a few weeks ago, Claire supplied, in order to prepare her for Christmas. Which was a good thing, because Charlie didn’t exactly take the news well. 

She leant forward slightly to tap on the sonogram in Karen’s hand, ‘At 13 weeks, this is Baby Grady, number 2.’ Claire grinned.

‘I can’t believe we used to argue about _if_ you were ever going to have _a child.’_ Karen laughed, hugging her sister tight, as she joked about potential nieces and nephews in a higher number. Claire rolled her eyes with a fond smile, promising her sister that they would see how they travelled. Owen loved kids, _lived_ for Charlie and was over the moon for their newest addition. Getting him to keep an exited lid on their secret was harder than keeping a grumpy Charlie from ratting them out to her grandparents. She’d wait for this next one to get through their terrible twos before they considered adding anymore to the growing Grady bunch. 

Heather was still crying fat happy tears, alternating between hugging Claire and pressing kisses to Charlie’s head. It didn’t take long for Claire to become the family favourite, it didn’t take any effort at all. Naturally, Heather loved her. And naturally, she loved her grandchildren, adding another to her growing list was the best news she could receive. ‘You’ve really out done yourselves this year,’ She teased, patting her son on the shoulder as she watched Charlie’s head droop for the tenth time in as many minutes. 

When Owen stood, announcing that he was going to take Charlie up to bed each member of their small group took turns kissing her cheek and wishing her sweet dreams. It was Heather, who squeezed her little fingers, a kiss to her granddaughter’s cheek, and to her nose before quietly whispering, ‘Merry Christmas’.  


	59. #59 - First Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire and Owen spending their first Christmas as a couple. 
> 
> &
> 
> @claiiredearing: Claire and Owen go ice skating and she’s reaaallyyy good and he’s horrible and they’re super cute about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content quality is not great, I apologise to the prompters. It wasn’t you, it was me. I’m stressing that I won’t get all of these done before the end of December. (Which reminds me, my inbox for Christmas prompts is CLOSED).

They’d spent that first year, after Jurassic World, seperate. Claire with Karen and the boys, picking up the shattered pieces of her nephews’ crumbling psyche. While Owen did whatever Owen did, they didn’t talk about their time apart, only acknowledged that they couldn’t breathe without the other.  

This year was theirs. 

Owen wanted to do something fun, something adventurous but within bounds of the expected Christmas Eve rush. And just like the grown child he was, Owen settled on ice skating. A rink had been set up in the middle of town, attracting adults and children alike. It had been years since Claire had spent her childhood youth skating on ponds and in enclosed rinks. 

‘Are you sure about this?’ Claire asked Owen skeptically, her lips brushing his cheek. Owen nodded enthusiastically, his eyes flicking towards the rink in front of them. Children were squealing with delight, some chatting candidly as they looped around in circles. Teens called out on a laugh filled shriek, legs slipping ankles wobbling in their boots like newborn giraffes. She didn’t trust Owen on the ice, she had no doubt he’d be just as out of control as those clinging to the outer walls. 

He was too cocky about it, boasting the apparent skills he had on the ice. Enough so that Claire let him go, no more warnings, no more reassurances. She pecked a quick, loving kiss to his lips before she pulled away, attending to the straps on her loan skates. She stood, feet steady even though the skates were unfamiliar by almost twenty years. Owen wobbled, his hand flying out to her hip to steady himself. Claire laughed, chin on her shoulder, grin on her face. She didn’t say anything, only stepped away from him and towards the gate. 

It took Claire a minute to regain her confidence on the ice. Owen, quiet loudly, realised he had no confidence at all. He wobbled but he didn’t fall, which was enough for Claire. There was nothing worse than an injured or sick Owen. She slid away from him, letting the man grabble for the ledge as she managed to do a small circle in front of him. 

‘How the hell are you good at this?’ He gapped, wobbly like an unsteady newborn just like a few others there. Claire could see the embarrassment start to paint itself in a warm rose across his cheeks. He was the Alpha, no matter where he was or what he was doing, Owen had to take charge - Claire too, which was why they butted heads more often then not. And oddly how they managed to find the glue to keep them together. 

Claire giggled, arms crossed over her chest, hand under her chin. ‘You’ll get used to it after a couple minutes, Babe.’ She promised and it was futile. He didn’t get the hang of it. She went ahead, at his instance, doing three laps of the whole rink slowly before she came back to him, only having moved twenty steps from where she left him. His knees were pressed together, his back hunched forward, one arm anchored over the wall beside him. Claire stopped in front of him easily, small flex of ice hitting his shoes as she stopped without touching the wall. 

‘I wanted to do something romantic, like that.’ Owen half sulked as he subtly pointed towards a couple just to their left. They were skating hand in hand, large smiles on their faces, cheeks pink with the exertion. Occasionally they spun, the two of them in unison, circling one an other, holding each other close as they kissed passionately. 

Claire smiled, ‘We can still do that’. She kissed him on the cheek for the simple thought of wanting to romanticise her. Owen gave Claire a hopeful little grin as he readily took in her advice to seperate his knees and straighten his posture. 

Within seconds they were gliding across the ice, arm in arm, without a hitch. He focused on every move she made, only stumbling when he got distracted. Owen still couldn’t skate on his own, but it was enough with Claire, letting her lead him around, giggling in his ear. They dodged children as they tried to make it back to the gate, Claire insisting that after two hours she couldn’t possibly skate any longer. 

He took her home, solid ground now unfamiliar to feet that had spent two hours balancing on a blade. She kissed him, sweetly, softly, once they made it to the car, holding his large hand in hers. Claire Dearing had her moments of complete loving sap. Owen taking her ice skating, even though he was rubbish at it, had her like putty in his hands. 

‘This is our _first_ Christmas together,’ She told him later, as they stepped through the front door. Knowing Owen it hadn’t even crossed his mind, but he knew. Which was a pleasant surprise. His demeanour shifted suddenly, eyes growing dark as he approached her slowly, on the prowl. Claire kept her place by the stairs, giving him a sultry smile. 

When he reached her, Owen wrapped his arms around her waist, head burying itself against her neck, lips warm on her skin. ‘In that case, I could probably give you your gift early,’ His laugh vibrated across her collar bone, igniting a fire under her skin, causing Claire to moan in satisfaction. 

‘What? No coca and cuddling by the tree?’ She teased, fighting the urge to roll her eyes into the back of her head. His touch was torturous. Claire was expecting a lazy evening in front of the TV, cooking a small dinner and snuggling up to Owen. He had other things in mind, and she wasn’t complaining. They could always have her evening after he’d had his way with her. 

Owen lifted her off her feet, her legs wrapping around his waist as a reflex while he trailed kisses down her chest. This wasn’t so bad, Owen’s skin warm against hers, his touch loving. Was there really a difference between quiet intimacy beside the Christmas tree or endless moans in their shared bed? It was their first Christmas together, and at all. There would be others, spent in other ways. They had to start on a good note. She warned him cautiously to not hurt his back as he carried her up the stairs. 

As far as first Christmases went, this one was already the best.

 


	60. #60 - Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: seeing as it’s apparently Christmas time in the movie (that oddly placed Christmas song over the airport scene) how would Owen and Claire try to celebrate immediately after the incident?

Neither of them expected much. There wasn’t much to expect. They led solitary lives, dedicated lives - to their commitments, to their jobs. The holiday season always seemed to get in the way of that. So, when the season rolled around, they ignored it. She buried herself in reports, eagerly eyeing guest satisfaction, and the glowing visitor count. Until recently, he was still in the Navy, refusing leave so one of the others in his unit could go home to family. After that, everything was about his girls. He didn’t even have a second to register that it was December. 

Then, Jurassic World fell. The carefully constructed lives they’d built around themselves crumbled. 

As always, they could have chosen to avoid it. Optioned to camp out in their individual hotel rooms, fingers in their ears, humming away the holidays. Claire had planned to do exactly that, fingers tapping away at the keyboard of a borrowed laptop. She had no intention to recognise that it was Christmas Day; until there was a knock at her door.

Owen’s hopeful grin was enough to make her cave. Bar fridge beverages in his hand, and a box under his arm. ‘It’s not much, but it’s something,’ He shrugged as she stepped aside to let him in. He deposited his goods on the small table in her room before taking a seat in one of the accompanying chairs. ‘So, did the jolly ole fat man come to visit?’ Claire shook her head, rolling her eyes at him slightly. ‘Probably best that he didn’t,’ Fiddling with the box in his hands, Owen chuckled. 

‘Where’d you get all this stuff?’ Claire asked, admiring his collection of alcoholic beverages, and in complete awe of the Christmas pudding in his hands. 

He shrugged, ‘Pinched ‘em off the Maître d’,’ He grinned, proud. Claire didn’t ask how or why, nor did she care how irritated the head waiter could have possibly been. Or, perhaps, how easily they caved under Owen’s charms. She was just happy for Christmas pudding - alcohol too, if she was being honest. ‘You don’t happen to have cutlery, do you?’ Claire glared, and Owen shrugged, apologetic look shining in his eyes. ‘Aye, ate with my fingers as a kid, can still do it now.’ If it were anyone else, any other situation: she would have cared, would have put up a small fit. With Owen: she didn’t care. 

He jumped up from his seat, slowly moving around the room until he found a small radio by the bed. Clicking it on, Owen allowed the small room to be filled with the gentle hum of Christmas carols. 

Claire pulled her legs up onto her chair, pulling herself inwards as Christmas suddenly rolled over her. ‘It almost feels weird without the snow,’ she hummed, ‘I don’t think I’ve actually celebrated without it’. She knew, without him saying anything, the thoughtful look pressed between his eyebrows. If Owen could have brought her snow, he would have.  

‘Not even while you were on the island?’ She shook her head,

‘Christmas is for family. Doesn’t really work when you’re alone.’ Owen hummed. He had years like that, knew the feeling. It had been a little different after he started at Jurassic World, once he had his girls and his team. It didn’t make it any less difficult to be away from family over the holidays. 

They sat in silence for a while, Owen cracking open the lid of a miniature bottle of Jack Daniels, Claire staring out the window, watching the sunset. It was too warm in Costa Rica for it to be Christmas, they were both out of whack, both lost and floating in a world that suddenly spat them out and crushed their ‘normal’. Christmas was almost a foreign concept. 

He listened to their silence for a moment, counting the seconds mentally, deliberating a plan, promising himself _Silent Night_ wouldn’t get stuck in his head. ‘C’mon,’ Owen announced as he pushed himself up from the chair. He said it again, large fingers wrapping around her wrist, tugging gently. She followed his movements easily, body pulling itself out of her chair despite the fact that her mouth was protesting. He let her talk, questions flowing from her mouth, as his hold on her wrist shifted to clasping her fingers - by Claire’s instigation. He didn’t question her. Instead, he held her hand gently, pulling her through the hotel hallways and out on the beach behind their temporary accomodation.

The sun had set the beach in a tangerine glow, warming their skin as the cool change blew through. She was still holding tight to his hand, body swaying into his side. He wanted nothing more to walk along the beach, to revel in the quiet of people packing up their days, still revelling in their Christmas holiday. 

Jurassic World, sat like a flashing neon sign behind them, preventing scars to heal. They could have just as easily ignored the day. Could have buried themselves in the mountains of paperwork they were _both_ sorting through. Trying to figure out a way to get out of this situation, sensitively and righteously.

He didn’t want to leave her alone. Not on Christmas day. 

She was yet to define who they were, he was yet to ask. They avoided it like small children and an inevitable scolding. The oven was hot, mother said, _do not touch_. Both knew well enough to not get burnt. 

They settled on a small patch of grass, toes in the sand. Claire had brought along the Christmas pudding, opening the box, and inhaling deeply. He watched her, small wonder on his face as she rediscovered a childhood memory. Whatever it was, whatever it meant; it was powerful. 

Claire sighed, long and low. His index finger was locked over her pinkie in the sand, as they both leant back on their hands, listening to the rush of the waves, and the quiet amusement of those on holiday. ‘Thank you,’ Claire breathed, leaning over quickly to press a long kiss to his cheek. He smiled at her lazily, pleasantly surprised for a second, before she leant in again, a soft kiss to his lips. 

His cheek, his lips, stung with the memory of her kiss, only seconds gone. But gone none the less. He told her she was welcome, although he didn’t really know what for. They acknowledged a holiday she didn’t usually partake in, one he morphed into a twisted tradition with dinosaurs. He got her out of that tiny hotel room, got her to the beach. They didn’t speak much, but he knew Jurassic World was behind them, she wasn’t thinking about what happened, or what was going to happen. There was no talk, nor any thought of their upcoming battles. 

It was just the two of them, on a Christmas evening, sitting in the Costa Rican sand. 


	61. #61 - Reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> claiiredearing: “my little nephew mistook your dog for a reindeer and that’s the story of how your dog ended up eating carrots inside my/my sister’s house” AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this prompt. And I stuffed it up. How dare I?!
> 
> I honestly don't understand how it went so wrong.

Zach and Gray were giddily pulling shopping bags from the car, and racing them inside. Gray, at four years old, was a lot slower than his much older brother. He helped with one bag, before he realised how much more fun _Aunt Claire_ was. She was exasperated just at the sight of him. 

He was helping her pull her suitcase from the back of Karen’s car, fingers going numb against the cold fall of snowflakes. He broke away as the suitcase fell to the snow at Claire’s feet, his voice shouting ‘ _Reindeer!’_ into the empty neighbourhood. She didn’t bother to look over her shoulder to check on the boy, didn’t thick in necessary when he went chasing after the neighbour’s Christmas decorations. That was, until she heard Gray ask if he could pet it. 

Claire spun softly, hand on her suitcase as she spied out for Gray on the snowy sidewalk. He’d approached a tall man, blond hair poking out from under his beanie, warm smile on his honeyed face. ‘Oh, Gray, honey, that’s not a -‘, 

‘She’s only a reindeer in training, not quite ready for Santa’s sleigh just yet’. The man supplied easily, crouching down to Gray’s height as the boy hovered over the dog. The German Shepard, that looked nothing like a reindeer. Claire turned to her sister’s house, hoping the woman would emerge and defuse the situation in front of her. It wasn’t exactly bad, she just wasn’t too sure how to handle it.

‘What’s her name?’ Gray asked, hand hovering over the dog’s spine, hesitant to touch even though the man had said it was okay. 

He cleared his throat softly, chasing away a cough more than anything. ‘Her name is Jericho. I call her “Echo” for short’. He looked the boy in the eyes when he spoke, getting a small nod and a repeat of the dog’s name before his eye’s flickered up to Claire with a soft smile. She smiled weakly, one hand on her hip, the other holding onto her luggage. He was being gentle with her nephew, kind and considerate, taking his time to answer Gray’s inane questions. Claire had to admit, none of them really had any time for it. Most of them shoved the boy to the side, carrying on with their days and tasks uninspired by the second son. But he was smart, smarter than half of them - even while caught in childlike whimsy. And here was this man, a stranger, taking his time to play into Gray’s thought of his dog as a reindeer. 

Except, he wasn’t a stranger, not to Claire. It took her a second to collect herself, memories swirling in front of her face at the flash of his green eyes and honey’d smile. Owen Grady, how could she have forgotten? They had a small spell in college, the two of them caving on a hot fire that burned between them. She had called it naivety, young and reckless, he’d called her the love of his life. Nothing either of them said, stopped him from packing his things and joining the Navy. He promised to write, and she played indifferent, burying herself in a new hot shot internship over the summer break. 

He never wrote. She pretended like it didn’t rip her heart out. 

His dog tags glimmered in the late morning sun, taunting her. It didn’t matter that she had called it off before he left. They both knew he was going. He was older than her, two years ahead in his degree. He compiled his subjects in order to graduate faster under special consideration. The year and a half they had, sat atop a frozen lake, the warm change threatening to thaw it and drown them in its icy depths. 

Claire wondered, briefly, if he was still enlisted. He promised, five years, five years and he’d finish his contract, his tours and obligations over. Five years and she’d have finished her degree, and already be at the top of every corporate ladder on the West Coast. His five years were up. There he was, strolling her sisters street in Wisconsin. 

‘Gray, honey,’ She tapped her nephew on the back, pulling lightly at the hood of his jacket. Owen’s eyes flickered towards hers, flashing almost in fear as she regarded her nephew tenderly. He’d always been bad at math. She wanted to roll her eyes at his perceived idea that Gray was _their_ son. ‘Inside, bud, your mom doesn’t want you catching a cold.’ She defused his thoughts without addressing him, slight rage building in her belly. ‘Say goodbye,’ 

Instead of doing what she asked, Gray bounced up off the icy pavement, little cheeks red as he excitedly shouted, ‘We have carrots!’ He turned without waiting for a response, without listening to his aunt exclaim that it wasn’t necessary at all. Gray stopped at the stoop of the door, brushing his feet against the mat, and waving at them, crying out ‘C’mon!’ 

Claire finally gave herself the satisfaction of rolling her eyes. ‘You may as well come inside, get out of the cold.’ She offered, despite the fact that it was her sister’s house and Karen currently had no idea what they’d been doing out the front of it. That, and she knew he recognised her, probably from the second he saw her red hair.  

‘Hey, Claire,’ He whispered quietly, as though it was a secret they weren’t admitting out loud. She was quite fond of that idea. Humming in response to his greeting as she grumbled something about not needing to appease her nephew. She _had_ invited him in, but under every circumstance, he could have turned her down. 

Owen shrugged, ‘It it’s all right with you, I don’t mind humouring him’. 

‘And who is this?’ Karen’s voice implored as they stepped into the foyer of her home. Claire introduced Owen and Echo, quickly explaining what had happened on the sidewalk. She couldn’t hold her sister’s eye, as Karen scrutinised her. She could tell Karen was trying to pin point if this was the same Owen from a little over five years ago. The Owen Claire almost bought home for Christmas, then didn’t. Gray interrupted before anyone could be interrogated, carrots in hand, excitement iced across his face.

That was how he ended up there, sitting on Karen’s couch while Gray fed Echo carrots. Owen kept up easy conversation, avoiding the fact that he knew her, that they had a scared history. She sat next to him awkwardly, hands between her knees as they watched her nephew. How many Christmases like this did they miss? Minus her awkward nerves? How many years would they have lasted, alternating between his parents and Karen? Or spending Christmas alone while he was at sea? Claire shook her head, _no_ , she made the right choice. 

He was kind, and gentle with the boys, Zach sitting quietly on the floor beside Gray, listening to every confident word out of Owen’s mouth, and every nervous one from Claire’s. He made them all laugh, more than once, catching Claire by surprise. Something in her chest ached. He was flirting with her, only softly, subtly, likely an old habit rekindled with her so close. Whatever it was, it didn’t go unnoticed by Karen who was grinning openly. 

Claire didn’t ask him about his job. She didn’t want to know. His dog tags were tucked back into the collar of his shirt, but he mentioned it, the Navy, just in passing. Claire didn’t know what to say or how to react. Instead, she listened to him talk, watched him, reclined on her sister’s lounge, using the space as if it was his own. _He belonged there._  

It had been years, and yet, she could still tell that he was tired. No matter how long they’d been apart, she’d always be able to read the gray that fed into the green of his irises. His exhaustion was deep set, not current. The material of loss of sleep, likely due to wartime nightmares. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to know. Owen had always been sweet as honey, and as soft as a teddy. He didn’t deserve nightmares. She didn’t want that image of him, plagued with horrors. She never wanted him to go.  

He was excusing himself before she was ready, stretching his legs out before getting up to stand. Gray was mournful but didn’t fight it, too tired after the excitement. If they were alone. If they chanced a meeting on the streets of New York City, if this wasn’t her sisters house: she would have fought his departure. Saying goodbye was always the hardest part. She’d done it once, Claire wasn’t too sure if she could do it a second time. 

Karen insisted he could stay, silently figuring out who he was to Claire, the pieces pulling themselves together after he proved himself comfortable around her headstrong sister. He declined, thanked her for her hospitality, but insisted he couldn’t stay any longer. He wasn’t in a rush, Claire could tell. 

She followed him to the front door quietly, listening to the clip of Echo’s nails on Karen’s tiles instead of speaking. He slipped his wet shoes back on, shuffling towards the door, his arms struggling with his coat. Owen stopped at the threshold, shoulder leaning against the empty door jamb. ‘It was nice getting to see you again,’ He whispered, almost so quiet she couldn’t hear him. Owen smiled, long and slow, the corners of his cheeks rising. 

‘What?’ She asked, her own voice a whisper as she stepped closer to him, perturbed by the look on his face.

‘I was just, ah,’ He had seemed so confident until the words started to stumble out of his lips. ‘I was wondering if maybe you’d be interested in dinner … with me … sometime.’ The small, sharp laugh that filtered past her lips was as unexpected as it sounded. She shook her head, softly, slowly, hand wrapped around the door handle. 

‘I don’t even live here, Owen. That’s just - it just wouldn’t work, it -‘ 

‘What if I came to New York?’ He interrupted, eyes flashing with exhaustion, hope almost gone. Something told her that he needed it. He needed to see her again. He was so tired, it was unlike him. Her stomach fluttered, nervous and excited all in one. 

‘That’s a little excessive, don’t you think?’ Owen shrugged, fluttering puppy eyes at her. She sighed, trying to quell the nerves in her belly, ‘Fine. If you find your way to New York, I’ll take you up on dinner’. She couldn’t say no to the worrisome grey in his eyes, nor the fight he would proceed with. His insistence that she was still shocked when she laughed, when he made her laugh, but she deserved that happy sound - and he was the only one would could produce it. She laughed a little more now, than what she did when he met her, but the words would have rang true none the less. 

Claire was certain he would never make it to New York. Surely he had other pressing things to attend too, he’d forget about her now like he did five years ago. He was only asking in order to be nice. What were the chances that he’d find her in New York City? He was just a guy, who lived on her sister’s street, who happened to be pulled under Gray’s innocent spell. A guy who she’d once been in love with as a twenty-year-old girl.  

He wouldn’t make it to New York, they wouldn’t go on that date, and there was certainly no possibility of them repeating a rather lax story of this afternoon to their children, many years later. 

‘It really was nice to see you, again. I certainly didn’t expect it.’ Claire shrugged, eyes fluttering to the ground as his fingers wrapped around her hand. She’d never been good with contact … or compliments. He waited a beat, hand still holding hers, until her eyes flickered up before he leant in to kiss her cheek. 

She flashed crimson. Claire hesitated for a second, before pushing up on her tiptoes, hand on his shoulder, kiss light on his own scratchy cheek. When she settled back on her feet, she held her head high. ‘Merry Christmas, Owen.’ He grinned, bright and beaming, teeth flashing just how she remembered. She shoved her hands against his shoulders, chuckle vibrating in his throat, as he stepped out into the snow. ‘See you in New York,’ Claire called out, watching him go. 

Owen readjusted his coat against the cold, shrugging it against his shoulders as he switched hands holding onto Echo’s lead. ‘See ya in New York, Claire!’ He echoed back, grinning over his shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 more Christmas prompts to go. 5 days to Christmas. 11 days to the New Year.


	62. #62 - Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen and Claire ask each other about their Christmas traditions and decide on which ones they will incorporate when they have a family of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the 27th now, but I wanted to wish everyone a very happy holidays. I hope you had spectacular days full of laughter and love. I was thinking about you all! x 
> 
> Some housekeeping: I’m still a little dead over The Force Awakens, which means prompt uptake might be slow. The 5yo Star Wars fangirl in me has been reawakened.
> 
> I still have 2 Christmas prompts left. And 4 days to fill them. At this moment, I’m 90% certain they will be discarded (but held for next year - if I’m still around) in order for my Single Dad Owen fic to get up before the New Year.

‘Gingerbread houses,’ He said, eyes on the screen, not his wife. She knew what he was talking about instantly. It had almost turned into a game, naming traditions they wanted to pass on. Small activities jumped out at them during the holidays, little things really, that they wanted to do with their children, once they had them.  

‘Naturally,’ Claire responded, humming lightly, lips pressed to the lip of her wine glass. She’d started the game, whimsically sighing about Christmas lights and tree toppers while they were out tree shopping. A man walked ahead of them, holding the hand of his toddler daughter who had to stop and touch the bristles on every tree. 

It all flowed from there. Little touches, daydreams, wishes of things she would like to incorporate into the holidays for their own _one day_ child. That was where the sore spot was pressed too hard. They didn’t have children. Not for a lack of trying. Heartache leaped in bounds across their front patio, daunting them without remorse throughout the holiday season. 

‘What else?’ She asked quietly, leaning into his side, legs tucked underneath her. _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , played quietly on the television in front of them, almost ignored. That was another, to add to their long list. The old film, paired off with a few others that the two of them watched religiously each year. 

Owen hummed, beer cold in his hand, trying to recall memories from his childhood. ‘Lots of cooking,’ He chuckled, eliciting one from Claire too. His mother loved to cook, Christmas no matter how big or small was always an excessive feast. Claire couldn’t boil water, Owen was only a little better. ‘Mom used to take us to Midnight Mass. I haven’t done it in years, but it was something _wholesome._ Travis always hated it, but Mom thought it was a good reminder of the holiday’s meaning.’

‘We used to make baubles,’ She started on her own. ‘My mom loved Christmas activities, but the baubles were her favourite. There’s one from each of us every year, Dad included. We’d make baubles on Christmas Eve, and hang them up before bed.’ Claire shrugged, ‘I’d like to do that again’. He smiled warmly, tucking an arm around her back. 

He’d seen pictures of a little Claire, Karen beside her - the both of them grinning in brand new pyjamas. There were other pictures, ones of the two girls, faces content as they poured themselves over their mother’s coffee table, picking just the _right_ materials for their Christmas decoration. Karen always repeated those stories with fondness, Claire too, once the album was in her hands. 

She dazed for a second, watching George and Mary Bailey dance across the splitting gym floor. He watched her, grinning at the small fancy she fell in, as the dancers jumped into the pool below their dance floor. ‘It’s like Clarence says,’ She was mentally jumping ahead in the film, Owen didn’t care. They both knew it step by step, word for word, each misfortune until gratitude. ‘ _“Each man’s life touches so many other lives”_ , that’s what I want for our kids. To be as generous as George Bailey, to be as kind, compassionate, and caring. I don’t care what happens on Christmas Eve, or day, or three weeks before. I just, want children who are there to help others.’

Owen wanted to prod that not everything was sugar plums for George Bailey, that if it weren’t for his guardian angel Clarence, the film would have ended thirty minutes earlier. He wanted to argue that not all was well, Bailey was always handed the short straw. But, he knew that argument was futile as constructive as it was. They would be there for their kin no matter the help they cried for, and so would those they helped.

‘Be it new pyjamas on Christmas Eve and gifts for the neighbours, helping you set up the lights and visiting Karen on rotation. I just want good values to be superimposed on the excitement of gifts.’ He had no doubt that there was any other option. Her gaze fluttered over the Christmas tree, George Bailey exclaiming to Mary that he would lasso the moon for her, echoing in the space around them. He knew what she was thinking, the small ornaments always shining that little brighter than the rest. They were silver, _neutral_ , two sets of booties for the two looses they had incurred. Owen was fairly sure she was torturing herself, body stiff beside his. 

He hummed happily, trying to change the tone. ‘And sugar. _Lots_ of sugar - sleepovers with Mom and Lorna, Karen too.’ Even Delilah, on the floor, curled around Owen’s feet grumbled at the suggestion. The dog had been quiet until then, almost as though the sheer suggestion of leaving her was an annoyance. 

Claire shook her head, ‘I’m not sending my kid to Minnesota for Christmas Eve’. She laughed at least, shaking her head fondly as she dropped it back to his shoulder. She hummed after a second, glass to her lips, ‘Karen and I did that once or twice - spent Christmas Eve with one of our aunts - we had fun.’ She stopped to chuckle, memory floating around in her head, flashes of her aunt and Karen - and the candy they had for tea. ‘It was probably the most exciting Christmas Eve of our lives. Maybe we should do that - once they’re a little older.’ Owen nodded, kiss falling to the top of her head. ‘Maybe … Next year, when Travis comes home we can offer to have Livvy?’ 

‘I think they’d like that - Livvy would love it.’ Claire grinned, she had a soft spot for their far away niece, the little girl keeping the two of them wrapped around her finger. 

‘We should start keeping a list,’ Claire suggested, ‘So, when the time comes, we don’t forget all the things we want to do.’ 

Owen raised an eyebrow, knowing she couldn’t see it from her angle or in the subdued darkness. They wouldn’t forget - he was sure of it. Maybe in the first year or two. But, what did that matter, the kid wouldn’t remember. They’d remember where it was important, baubles and sleepovers, brand new pjs and midnight mass. He desperately wanted to make gingerbread _castles,_ and _rockets_ , and _animals_ \- rather than houses - with his son or daughter. 

There were little things too, like gifts for their neighbours, and getting mall photos taken. Listening to carollers sing and venturing into the city for the big displays. He wanted to cut down trees with his daughter, and drive all night seeking out Christmas lights with his son. They weren’t going to forget, but it wasn’t like they needed to remember. Christmas time was such a core part of who they were as human beings that it would be second nature to share their childhood with their child … one day … when the opportunity arose.

 


	63. #63 - Baby, You've Returned to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON + numerous others: A sequel to #61 - Reindeer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially had no intention to write a sequel, so I’m sorry that it’s bleh. But, I had to post something for Despite the Odds that wasn’t kid related. Before you all strangle me.

The cold never used to bother her. She used to daydream about lazy winter afternoons and cosy nights. The longing thrummed in her chest, like the comforting glow of the fireplace, and the reassurance of someone’s embrace. Winter had been a cold hard _bitch_ since college … since Owen left. Claire Dearing succumbed to it, letting icy tendrils wrap themselves around her beating heart, lulling the murmur, almost stopping it completely. 

Claire wasn’t the kind of girl who needed a man to help her breathe. With or without Owen she stood by that. But couldn’t deny that when he left, he took a part with her. She could still feel the ache in her chest, the missing pieces still phantom after all these years. Luckily, he’d decided to take something a little less than a vital organ, enough to leave her breathing … functioning. 

She put her head down, pen to paper, eyes on her books and did nothing but study and _work_ until she graduated. Once Stanford had announced her as their finest, Claire packed up everything she owned in the state of California, and moved across the country. He didn’t need her, and she certainly didn’t need him. 

Her Christmas visit with Karen had warmed the icy corners of her young heart. Owen was the last thing she expected to find on a suburban street, in the middle of winter, with a dog on a lead. She could still feel her heart beating in her throat, the sheer panic palpable once she recognised who he was. Just as easily as the panic bubbled in her chest, it subsided, evening out across her body, chasing down her arms and legs. In a second, she felt like she was twenty again, sitting on the front lawn belonging to Stanford University, Owen nagging her about lunch right beside her hip. They were easy, simple back then … it had all become so complicated just before he left. Suddenly it felt like none of their drama had ever happened, and if it weren’t for the tired apologetic look in his eye, Claire would have believed that she’d been transported back in time. 

Leaving Wisconsin was the third hardest thing she ever had to do. Once she settled in the back of a cab, home, in New York City, did she feel like she’d made the right decision. 

The limbo days of the holidays passed. That odd, not quite, vacation period between Christmas and the new year holding everyone hostage like mindless zombies. She lounged through paperwork, contemplated getting a cat … or a bird, read and finished the only novel she’d picked up all year and waited for the countdown. 

The city was alive with energy, bursting with colour, and almost fill to the brim with extra visitors. Claire weaved in and out of the crowds, trying to breath in her break from work, while ignoring that another year had passed. She lingered, momentarily, at restaurant windows, spying on the patrons and cuisine. It was too much to ask for, Owen making it to the city to take her on a date. He likely had more of a life in Wisconsin than what she had since her childhood. She couldn’t stop the daydream, not matter how unlikely the outcome. 

Without realising time and space, the city exploded in a bright bursts of fire crackers, setting off artificial stars in the sky. Once again, she waded through bodies in limbo. The holidays were done, over, and yet everything still felt like a vacation, brand new, and yet old, routine. Claire counted down the days she had left, on her fingers. Returning to work would be a nice relief, a distraction to keep her from her remerged feelings for Owen Grady. 

Her heart fluttered in her chest as her heels clacked against the pavement. A figure stood by the stairs of her building, head drawn down, watching his fingers. Adjusting the shopping bags on her arms, Claire’s first thought was panic. She stepped closer anyway, not ready to disturb her step, hand in her pocket, on her phone. The closer she got, the more her heart started to pound for a completely different reason. She should have recognised him instantly, but it had been years since she had seen his face in composition of the setting sun. _Owen_. 

His grin was electric when her foot falls called him to look up. She breathed his name before he could say anything, his arms wrapping around her tightly, lifting her feet slightly from the ground. Claire couldn’t help the light laugh that escaped her lungs, nor the urge to kiss his cheek. She tugged, gently, on the scarf wrapped around his neck. It was still cold out, snow threatening to fall.

Owen’s hand was warm against the small of her back, her arms suddenly light as he took her bags. He whispered something in her ear about Karen and her address, and that he hoped she didn’t mind. It’d been a week and a half since she gave him her number. Claire jumped every time the damn device buzzed, hoping beyond relief that it was him. He never called. Couldn’t even manage a text. She couldn’t care less in that moment, his breath hot against her neck, his words honey in her ears and his body lean against hers. She just wanted to get in, away from the cold that chilled her bones so fiercely, stinging as an infernal punishment for what he had already done to her vulnerability. 

She let him into her apartment easily, somewhat worried that he would mark this place for her. That it would be ruined forever with his memory if he left again. The thought was chased away as he crushed her against the closing door, his hands wrapped around her waist, his lips hungrily devouring hers. 

Claire whimpered against his lips, both surprised and mournful. Old, forgotten parts of her memory thawed under his kiss, the adventures they went on, the way her laugh sounded when she was _truly_ happy … everything they had together. They were young and stupid, and she was too hooked up on the first love of her life. Something in the back of her head told her to push him away, to kick him out, and disregard every thought of Owen Grady. She couldn’t do it. 

Instead, Claire melted against him, giving into touch and sound, surrendering to his warmth. 

*

‘Why here? Why this city?’ Owen asked, once Claire finally settled. They’d found neutral ground in her flashy apartment. Owen in his boxers, Claire in an old, oversized, tee and boxes of Chinese sitting between them on her bed. Those were the days they’d been at their most comfortable, avoiding assignments and bonding over food, scantily clothed. 

‘You didn’t leave me in New York.’ Her voice was quiet, eyes watching her chopsticks draw lines in her noddles. ‘Every inch of California reminded me of you. Every internship, every office building, every opportunity on that _damn_ coast. Because you had big dreams for _me_ there. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live up to this aspiration you had for me, in spite and in fear that it wouldn’t work out.’ She let out a shaky breath, shuddering as it exited her lungs. ‘I _didn’t_ \- _don’t_ \- need you. But, I was too scared to walk in the echoes of your dreams. That was something for _us_ , not me alone.’ 

His hand found her knee, rubbing small circles on her smooth skin in a hope to comfort her. ‘I’m sorry,’ Owen whispered. 

‘Don’t be.’ There was more for her here, more work, more people to intimidate. She’d singlehandedly risen to be Simon Masrani’s trusted right hand man. Not his assistant, his co worker, the person he turned to when he couldn’t make up his mind. She was only twenty-five. 

Claire talked about work easily, spitting figures and facts. It was the only thing she had. Her personal life consisted in collapsing on the couch and watching old recorded episodes of shows she was too far behind on to even bother with. Occasionally she had a glass of wine in her hand. She was cold, emotionless, disinterested and uninteresting.

Surprisingly, Owen had turned out slightly the same. His stories were covered, blank spaces filling almost every word. All he had to talk about was Echo. He let it slip that he was discharged a year a go, left to wander the streets unable to adapt to civilian life after his last tour. He was lost. 

‘Why didn’t you come back?’ _Why didn’t you write?_ Her voice was quiet, probing, but too scared for the answer. She wanted to know what kept them apart so long, why he was so reluctant to contact her. There was nothing missing between them, she practically fell apart the second he whispered in her ear. It wasn’t them. _It was him_. 

‘At first, I was scared that you were still mad at me.’ It was Owen who flinched as Claire’s gaze drifted. She’d known eight months before he enlisted that he was intending to. The closer they got, the more strained things became, the angrier Claire grew. They were fighting nonstop before he left, despite the fact that neither of them wanted him to go. ‘I got time out of training and I came down to visit, _I swear_ , but one of your friends saw me first, told me that you’d moved on. She said it was best if I just turned around and went back to base … and I did.’ He sighed heavily, eyes fluttering closed. ‘I only ever wanted you to be happy … I never deserved you. I had to know when to let go even if it killed me.’ 

She hadn’t looked at him, her eyes fixated on the food, or the floor. When he heaved a heavy breath, chest clearly too tight, Claire climbed across the bed. Her kiss was soft, repetitive, as she pecked his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. They were so young, and so stupid. He still loved her, and her heart, frozen in the endless winter he’d left behind, still loved him more than she was ready to admit. ‘Promise you’re not going away again,’ Claire demanded between soft kisses as she climbed into his lap.

‘I’m not going away again,’ Owen mumbled around her mouth, grin large as he returned every kiss she gave him. 

‘We’re going to give this another go, yes?’ He nodded against her skin, lips pressed to her neck as he promised her everything under the sun. Owen Grady had always wanted to give Claire the sun and the stars, and now he had a second chance. 


	64. #64 - Charlie and the Premature Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can you write about Elliot's birth?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ingenious title right? 
> 
> There hasn't been a single baby born in my family (in 30 years), on time and without complication. We're all dramatic. Healthy. But, dramatic. This scenario came naturally.

‘I don’t want you to worry,’ Claire tried to speak calmly down the phone line, hiccough threatening to penetrate her speech. ‘But, I’ve gone into premature labour.’ Her hands were shaking as she tried to hold the phone to her ear, the hiss of her husbands voice on the other end only elevated her panic. They’d given her something, she couldn’t remember what it was, in an attempt to delay the baby. But, those things had a chance of not working. 

She was only in the beginning of her third trimester, seven months pregnant. Her baby girl was nowhere near being due to arrive. _‘Are you okay?’_ Owen’s voice called down the line, worry evident as she snapped, breaking out into a loud gasping sob. He tried to soothe her from the other end, on the other side of the country. She shouldn’t have been there, sitting in a hospital room in the middle of New York. Her doctor had cleared her to fly and her corporation desperately needed her in the big apple.

It was supposed to be for two days. 

Claire sobbed, trying to break words through her tears and calm herself all in one motion. All Claire wanted to do was go home. She’d already spoken to her doctor over the phone, the woman assuring her that there was no way, even if labour was successfully delayed, that she would allow Claire to fly. She had to stay put until that baby came out. 

‘ _Hey, hey - you need to calm down, Claire.’_

‘This isn’t on my birth plan,’ She cried. Owen couldn’t help the scoff that bubbled up in the back of his throat. He’d never thought Claire would be neurotic about their children, never thought she’d loose her mind over exactly how each month of her pregnancy should pan out. She was a perfectionist who only wanted the best for her unborn daughter. She was too scared, while pregnant with Charlie, to undermine or back talk her doctors on proper procedure and what she read in some parenting magazine. Claire had considered herself a seasonal pro once they found out she was pregnant with their second child. 

_‘You know they only let you do a birth plan so you feel like you’re in control right?’_ He tried for something light, terrified that she would collapse into a bundle of nerves and have their daughter born too early. 

‘Something’s not right. Babies aren’t born this early unless something’s wrong.’ Owen’s voice hushed her once again, she could practically hear the man grinding down on his teeth in sheer frustration, pained that he couldn’t comfort her in person. ‘I need you here, Owen.’ She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to contain the wobbles and her fresh set of tears. She couldn’t do this without him, not in these circumstances. Claire was petrified that there was something wrong with their new daughter, terrified that everything would fall apart and Owen wouldn’t be there to support her. 

_‘I’m on my way.’_ He reassured her, crossing his fingers and sending up a prayer that he could find a flight. ‘ _I’ll get there as soon as I can, but you need to stay calm.’_ Claire bubbled another sob and he could see her, sitting in a hospital bed, one hand holding her phone to her ear while the other covered her mouth, trying to stop the throat ripping sound. _‘Does Karen know?’_ His sister-in-law was in a far better position to reach Claire before she worked herself up too much. Claire bubbled a yes down the line, murmuring something about her sister was already on a plane. _‘I’m gonna be there as soon as I can, okay. You keep that baby where she needs to be._ ’ Claire’s laugh was still wet with tears, her promise quiet and uncertain. _‘Okay, I have to go babe. I’ll let you know my flight details when I get them.’_

‘Owen?’ He hummed, acknowledging her, expecting something as simple as an admission of love they’d been sharing for years. ‘Charlie …’ She whispered her daughter’s name, the question both soft and loud in his ears. He’d forgotten about Charlie. 

The girl was at school, and would be for another four hours, but it was the afterwards they needed to worry about. Owen calmed his wife for the tenth time, promising that he’d handle it, and get to her quickly before he whispered his love and let go of the line. 

*

Despite Owen’s attempts to calm her, Claire hadn’t be capable of keeping her blood pressure where it should have been for her midwifes satisfaction. She suddenly understood how Charlie had felt a week earlier, called into the principal’s office for knowingly bad behaviour. She sat, legs crossed, hands on her belly, iPad in front of her as she mindlessly stared off at a blank wall. 

They’d admitted her, hospital tag around her wrist, heart monitor hooked up to her finger, another strapped around her belly, and a magnesium drip plugged into her arm. The nurses, and doctors were all cautious about her baby being in distress, her heartbeat was slightly irregular - which was something Claire knew since her twenty-four week scan. It wasn’t the cause for alarm, but considering the circumstances they wanted her monitored. Although they’d managed to delay labour … for the past handful of hours, they were not confident that Claire’s baby would stay where they wanted her to stay. 

Claire rubbed a gentle hand over the side of her swollen belly, receiving nothing more than a slight nudge against her fingers. ‘Kick me all you want, little miss, you’re staying in there until I say otherwise.’ Claire sighed, breath escaping her lungs, expelling her worry into the air around her head. 

The iPad in front of her lit up, flashing a sign that told her she had a new message. The chair of the board had personally promised, that she would be updated on the conference events through his personal secretary. Although she loved work - Claire would have preferred to be left out of the loop. The board felt ridiculous, especially now. They’d half forced her into flying across the country, and action she did do by choice, but only to not be undermined as a woman … and one with a family. She could have asked her doctor to disallow her flying, but the truth of the matter was that she wanted to work. That conference room without her would be a mess. Claire had never seen a group of men pale like the way they did when her first contraction hit her. Either they felt like idiots, or were scared of the baby being born on the conference table … likely a little bit of both. 

She read the email to pass the time, rolling her eyes at notes here and there, glad that they were getting on without her, albeit terribly. Even at seven months pregnant she could still snap the whole room into shape, leaving each and every man - and woman - sitting at that table half frightened of her. 

‘Claire?’ Her sister’s voice was easily recognisable, instantly soothing a small part of Claire that was still tense. ‘How’re you going?’ Karen kneeled on the side of the bed, to better hug her sister, as she rubbed a hand across Claire’s back. 

She sighed, long and heavy, the only thing she seemed capable of doing right. ‘We had a bit of a fright, but it’s all right now.’ Claire offered Karen a smile, rubbing the same spot on her belly and receiving the same disgruntled kick. ‘She’s going to wait,’ Claire announced, reprimanding her unborn daughter just like she would scold Charlie. 

‘Oh, sure. Because babies in utero do exactly what they’re told.’ They’d been through this before. Zach was born three weeks early, despite Karen and Scott insisting it was just Braxton Hicks and nothing to fuss about. Karen ate her words twenty-four hours later, newborn son in her arms. There was a reason why she rushed to get to her sister as quickly as she could, and although it had something to do with making sure she wasn’t alone. She also knew, if she didn’t, that baby would be born before any of them realised. ’Besides, those Grady’s - one hundred per cent free-willed. That baby is going to do exactly what she wants whether it’s good for her or not.’ Claire fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable new weight pressed to the bottom of her pelvis. She needed to stop denying that her daughter was ready to face the world. 

Karen’s phone dinged softly, drawing the attention of both women toward it. Owen had only boarded his flight an hour ago, a quick phone call with Claire confirming that he’d made a booking and would be there as fast as the airplane could carry him. ‘Lorna’s going to pick Charlie up from school at three. She’s good to keep her for a few days if need be,’ Claire groaned. She didn’t want to be there one more hour let alone a possible multiple days. Even if they did discharge her, they were unlikely to let her board a six hour flight back to San Diego. She wasn’t going home anytime soon. 

*

Claire had been uncomfortable from the moment she got there. As the day ticked passed her, washed by in a wave of nurses and Karen’s stories, her discomfort grew. Somewhere between drifting off to sleep in sheer boredom, and Karen making a call to Gray out in the hall, Claire’s water broke. Her contractions came back with a vengeance, rolling across her stomach every eight minutes. 

The nurses clicked their tongues, explaining to her in low tones that her daughter was going to be born ten weeks premature whether she liked it or not. 

When her contractions got closer together and her heart rate started to spike, it was suggested that she be moved to the birthing suite. She was already dilated at eight centimetres, and her baby’s own heart beat had started to drop. Claire gripped onto the arm of the nurse who tried to check the monitors beside her, she was desperate, bordering on frantic and in great pain. ‘I need my husband. I can’t do this without him, I need him here … I can’t, not without him.’ That was when the tears started again, Karen by her side, rubbing her shoulder as best she could. 

‘He was supposed to tell me when he landed.’ Claire insisted, as the number of people in the room grew and the faces changed. One man introduced himself as her doctor, as a kind young woman claimed herself as Claire’s midwife. They were telling her to push, waiting any longer would send Baby Grady into distress which could severe. 

Claire cried out, focusing her energy on her soon to be born daughter as she whimpered something about Owen, through her first push, tears hot on her cheeks. Karen was in the midsts of calming her sister once again, when the doors to the room burst open. He was already dressed in hospital scrubs, caught by a nurse who wouldn’t tell him where Claire was until he changed. Claire reached a hand out for him, sighing his name, as a weight lifted off her shoulders. 

Owen was quick to wrap his arms around her shoulders and to kiss her cheek, her head, her tear stained lips. Claire’s grip shifted from Karen to her husband, holding onto Owen like he was her only lifeline. ‘I’m so scared,’ She whispered, talking around soft whimpers. 

That was the last thing Owen ever expected to hear from Claire Dearing’s mouth. They’d been together six years. Not once had she ever told him she was scared. They’d faced dinosaurs together, the media circus revolving around the Jurassic World case, and had already passed through the birth of their first child. Her lip had wobbled in the face of the Indominus Rex, it’s hot breath washing over their faces as they hid, flush, against a car. That was the closest he had seen her come to crumbling into a frightened mess. 

She was crying, trying to breathe between sobs as the medical personal around her tried, in vain, to keep her calm. When Charlie was born, Claire was as held together as a weathered stone. She sat still, fought through the pain and almost effortlessly delivered their baby girl. She had been teary when Charlie was born, only once Owen was holding the newborn securely in his arms. She didn’t sob, like she did now, her heart ripping apart inside her chest, the harrowing sound echoing through her mouth. 

Claire told him that she was scared over and over again, the words falling like a mantra on the already high strung room. ‘We’re not ready for her,’ She whimpered, as Owen climbed behind her, letting Claire settle between his thighs and push against his chest. 

He kissed the side of her head, hands taking each of hers.’Course we are!’ That was practically nowhere near true. They were still halfway through converting Claire’s office into a nursery, the furniture still in pieces on the floor, waiting for an afternoon where Owen would construct them. ‘We’ve got Charlie. We can do this, Claire. It’s going to be okay. All of it.’ It wasn’t what she meant, but it was what she needed to hear. The slightest reassurance from her husband’s lips that everything would be okay. He knew without her voicing the concern, that Claire was running a list of defects in her head, things they would likely have to face with their daughter being born at thirty-one weeks. 

Her tears turned to quiet whimpers as Claire bore down against Owen, her hands gripping onto his as tight as she could, as she was coached through her second push. 

*

‘She’s a long way away.’ Charlie mused, holding onto each of her parents hands as they lead her down the hospital hallway. Owen hummed, musing aloud to his _now_ oldest daughter, that her sister was in fact very far from home. ‘Are we going to live at home, and she stays here?’ She asked, as Owen pushed open the door to the hospital’s nursery, smiling kindly at the nurse they’d become familiar with. 

‘No, baby. Your sister has to stay one more week, and then she can come home.’

‘Back to San Diego?’ 

Claire nodded, ‘Back to San Diego’. Charlie scrunched up her face, it’d been hard to warm her up to the idea of a sibling. Even harder when said sibling was born in another state, on the other side of the country, keeping her parents from her for three weeks. 

Owen situated Charlie in one of the large rocking chairs reserved for visiting family, while Claire went and collected their new daughter. Claire’s doctor had removed the small infant from the NICU only the day before, unplugging the machines and removing the monitors. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours, and she still hadn’t adjusted to the fact that her little girl was all right. She was breathing on her own, her heart murmur had smoothed, so far, she was showing no sign of future difficulties. She was happy, she was healthy, and they were going to be able to take her home soon. 

Claire picked her up easily, startled at her light weight. Her little body wasn’t dragged down by her monitors. It was just her, Baby Grady Number Two. She snuggled her daughter tightly, appreciating being able to do so without restrictions. 

Charlie watched on in anticipation, eyes wide and somewhat wary as he mother stepped towards her, baby in her arms. ‘Now, Charlie, you have to be really gentle with her, okay.’ Charlie nodded slowly, arms already in position like Owen had shown her. They’d been practicing with her dollies ever since she was told about her pending sibling. 

‘’Cause she’s precious?’ She asked, blinking green eyes up at her mother. 

Owen pressed a loving kiss to the side of his daughter’s head, while Claire hummed, ’Exactly that. Are you ready?’ With a final nod, and murmured _mm-hm_ Claire lowered the infant into her big sister’s arms. ‘Charlie, say hello to Elliot.’


	65. #65 - Charlie, Still Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions has been asking for teenaged Charlie and Elliot for a little while now. So, here she has it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Charlie isn't exactly teenaged - she's 21. But this was ~literally~ the only thing I can think of for these girls when they're older ... so far.
> 
> I'm starting to really wish I didn't make Charlie and Elliot 5 years apart. 3 would have been better. 
> 
> I promise, I’ll be working on Lions, Tigers, Bears next. Hopefully up by Monday/Tuesday. If I actually write the damn thing.

She exhaled heavily, shoulders falling against the leather back of the diner booth. Her sister’s hands were wrapped around her arm, holding on for dear life like she did the summer they made themselves sick on candy floss and rollercoasters. 

They were likely too old for the affection that decorated the pictures on their living room walls. Something told them their days of childish fancy had moved on. There was no need to swing from their fathers arms or cling to their mothers skirts. The same rules, justly, applied to their current situation. It also, however, didn’t stop them. 

Charlie stroked her sister’s soft hair, her cheek pressed to the side of Elliot’s head, tenderly soaking in their quiet moment. Revelling in the days where their parents used to think these moments were a rarity. ’Do you really have to go so soon?’ Elliot whimpered, forehead pressed to her sister’s shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. It was the question they all wanted to asked, whimpered in a childlike voice, whimsy caught on Elliot’s breath. She was only sixteen, still as quiet as a mouse, and in awe of her older sister, her guardian and guiding light. 

The diner sighed around them. The very essence of Charlie Grady was evacuating the quaint space, diminishing in her presence as a desperate plea to hold her down. ‘I have two days before my flight,’ Charlie answered as if it was enough. She couldn’t hold the eye of her parents, she watched the table instead knowing already it was a long goodbye. Two days was already too long. 

It always had to be different. They’d kissed her on the cheek, each in turn, and waved her off to Cornell three years ago. Sending her to Indonesia for an undetermined amount of time, was frightening. Charlie had lived for her independence, gripped tight to the swing chains and only ever jumped off once she touched the sky … without her fathers help. She wasn’t used to them trying to keep her in one place. 

There was a faint memory, sometime in her toddlerhood, recreated in the shadows of a story her mother loved to repeat. Charlie Grady and her carseat. Charlie Grady and any form of restraint. Her mother had told her, that as a toddler she hated being buckled down. It was a fight of rubber limbs just to get her in the car. She so often went without a stroller because it was more hassle than what it was worth. They’d encouraged school trips and summer camps, adventures away from home, and Charlie going out on her own. Indonesia was too far away, her father had sobered. Ithaca, New York, was one thing, Indonesia was another. 

‘C’mon, you guys,’ She half whined. ‘Today was a good day - a great day. Your first born is a college graduate!’ Charlie beamed, her whole life they encouraged the importance of higher education. Here she was; finished. 

There was no real complaint on Charlie’s behalf, her parents were smiling. She’d been hugged, and squeezed, and peppered with proud kisses more than she could could. The somber mood, however, was hovering over everyone’s heads. Elliot, beside her, tightened her grip. ‘I miss you already,’ She sighed. 

There had been days, months, years where Charlie and Elliot simply didn’t get along. They kept their seperate spaces, longing for the days in which Charlie would pick up and move to college. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, or so Charlie heard. It was certainly true in her case. She missed her wallflower of a baby sister, the quiet ray of sunshine that always had some silly little story to tell her, that ended with them both caught in laughter. 

She watched her parents, trying to commit them to memory. They were like they always were in her head, sitting side by side, holding hands, whispering something in the other’s ear like they were still young enough to whisper silly secrets on some high school first date. 

‘What did you say?’ Charlie asked, after Owen pulled away from Claire, her mother leaving a kiss on his cheek. Owen tilted his head, slight crinkle between his eyes. ‘Just now, what did you say?’ They did that a lot, scattered across her childhood, her father leaning in, whispering, her mother smiling fondly, kissing his cheek. She had distinct memories from her childhood. It was something Charlie had been working on. Vocalising things she remembered, checking her facts, as though she didn’t want to leave, to live with a memory that wasn’t right. 

That memory was a riddle she had yet been able to resolve. 

Owen’s humour grew slowly, smile climbing up his cheeks. ‘ _Still worth it._ ’ Charlie crinkled her cheeks, making her father laugh. ‘You were about six months old, your Mom and I were about ready to kill each other. I don’t think we didn’t anything but fight for a couple of weeks. She told me to leave, that nothing was worth staying and fighting.’ He watched his daughters faces carefully, Elliot gnawing on the straw of her milkshake, Charlie staring back at him with intrusive green eyes. If anything, their daughters didn’t know the severity of his and Claire’s relationship. They didn’t need to know, but at sixteen and twenty-one, they were old enough to understand why things had been so rough. 

That first eight months together that melted into another nine more once Claire found out she was pregnant. Charlie’s first year in their lives was a chaotic mess of insecurities, arguments and very little sleep. They were still running from the nightmares of Jurassic World by the time Charlie was placed on Claire’s chest for the first time. 

They would yell until they were red in the face, or until the neighbours came to see if they were okay. She wanted him out, and _God_ he wanted to leave some days. But, they stuck it through, the both of them too stubborn to break away and let everything they had fall apart. 

‘You were there, strapped into a bouncer that hung from the laundry room door, laughing your guts out. The tension dissolved. You were worth everything. Even if we were fighting, the only reason we stuck out our differences and made it through that first year, was because of you. Every spit bubble, every laugh, every ‘first moment’. Getting to see you grow. Watching you graduate, seeing you off to Indonesia to do something that is _important to you_. This is what were here for. This is what we fought for. Raising you. Seeing you become your own person. And, Elliot too. Looking back at where we were before you both were born, it’s a blur.’ 

‘The two of you are far more important than any argument we’ve ever had.’ Claire finished for her husband, tearing her eyes from his face to smile at their almost fully grown daughters. 

That first year had felt like a nightmare. She thought, back then, that she had made the wrong decision. Dark days swirled in the clouds, _forecast: always thunder_. In their own ways she and Owen wedged their feet in the sand, determined not to be the first one to give up, not to crumble or fall. She faintly remembers a promise he made, if by Charlie’s first birthday they were still on rocky terms, he would move out. Their daughter’s first birthday came and went, her third, her fifteenth, her twenty-first. He was still there. They even managed to get married a little after she turned three, finally in a place were their arguments were reserved to Owen forgetting to take the trash out, or leaving his wet towels on the bathroom floor. 

All they needed was to find their groove … with Charlie’s help. 

‘See,’ Elliot urged, dimple in her cheek. ‘You can’t go, they need you!’ 

‘They have you, Eli. The reintroduction project, that needs me.’ Her sister couldn’t argue. None of them could. Since the moment Charlie found out about the endangerment of Sumatran Tigers, the same species as her beloved Tango, at age two-and-a-half, she vowed to do something about it. Her parents weren’t about ready to stop her, no matter how much they didn’t want to see her on a flight to the other side of the world. Her father had said it himself, everything was worth seeing her grow up and want to change the world. What more could he ask for in a daughter that already reflected so much of himself. 

Smiling brightly at both her parents, promising easily that she would be home before they could even worry about her - which was a ridiculous comparison, they were already worried. They had witnessed her graduate college earlier that morning, they were sitting in her favourite diner just outside of campus, in a world she had been living in without them. No matter her independence, or her worldly experience. No matter how many years she campaigned for the survival of Sumatran Tigers, or the sponsor balls they ran at the zoo each year, in which she always proudly spoke beside Tango’s enclosure; since she was five. Charlie still sat in front of them as their little girl, dressed in the San Diego Zoo cargo, covered in muck and dirt, hay tangled in her orange hair, wild-eyed and a little smart mouthed.


	66. #66 - Life After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: could you please write a sequel to your last prompt (#42) about Claire getting her life back together slowly piece by piece?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of #42 - This is How a Heart Breaks
> 
> I posted this on tumblr a few days ago and forgot that AO3 wouldn't upload it for whatever reason. Sorry!

Karen stayed for a little while. She called Owen’s family, organised the funeral, she cooked, and she cleaned. Hardest of all, she watched her sister suffer, broken sobs shattering her ribs, keeping her eyes puffy and her cheeks red. 

When Karen wasn’t sitting with her, it was Gray. He cried with her, not quite able to wrap his head around the idea of his uncle being gone. That and he was never great with heavy emotions. He whimpered every time Claire made a noise, his heart wholly, one hundred per cent, breaking with hers. Zach tried his best to keep his head. He didn’t cry in front of them at least. Instead he made sure they had a constant stream of movies playing, or that Claire was keeping her mind switched on enough to play video games. 

Both boys worried silently. They knew how much Owen had helped to change their aunt for the better. They knew what she was like before him, only faintly, their memories few and far between in her absence. But, with Owen, she was always there; every birthday, every holiday. She called frequently too, Skype’d once a week. The chains of communication where open in places they had never been before. Karen attributed it to Owen, to the startling relaxed effect he had on her sister. They worried about what would happen now. Would she bury herself in work? Would she remember to call. No one spoke about it, only sat around quietly, trying to fill the void with conversations that didn’t involve Owen. 

It didn’t work as much as they hoped it would. Poor Gray bringing up his most recent science project, which lead Claire to quietly mumble how proud Owen would be of him. Gray’s face fell, his cheeks turning red before he pushed away from the dining table and ran off to his room. Owen was everywhere. Soaked in every conversation topic they had, even Karen’s ill tempered relationship with her ex-husband Scott involved Owen. 

It was worse when his family was there, his sister coming over to help comfort Claire. She didn’t want to push them out, but she had too, looking at their faces only caused her chest to ache, and her head to throb. They looked so much like him, spoke like him too, it was too much too soon. She was hearing a ghost in the voice of his baby sister. 

‘You should come back to Minnesota,’ Karen suggested quietly one night, as she sat watching her sister be miserable. She had to go home soon, get back to her job, and Gray back to school. They couldn’t stay in San Diego forever. Karen didn’t want to leave Claire behind. Claire shook her head, she was fine, she would be _fine_. She couldn’t leave her job on the West Coast. ‘Don’t you think it’d be better. I’ll help you pack up the house, you can put it on the market. Find something new.’ 

‘I’m not selling my house, Karen.’ Her voice was stern, the strongest it had been for weeks. Claire wouldn’t leave, she couldn’t. Nothing was keeping her there, and yet she wanted to stay. They loved this house. They had argued over it for months, Owen slowly offering his opinion on the properties she was looking at. Eventually she moved away from apartments in the city and ventured to the suburbs, something appropriate for the both of them. It still was. His bike sat in the garage, his precious belongings scattered across the mantel piece and stored in the attic. His guitar had a permanent place in the living room, until he died, Karen moving it out of sight. She was getting better, she could look at his pictures on the walls. She could shift over to his side of the bed without waking up with the rude reminder that he was dead. 

Sure, he wasn’t there and when Karen was out with the boys the house taunted her. She still got sick when they left, spending the whole hour of Karen’s errands run, in the master suite puking the little food she had managed to eat. That was another thing, she had a better appetite now than what she had in the first few days. 

Claire’s worst week arrived when she missed her period. Karen couldn’t get a word out of her for hours as Claire lay curled up on Owen’s side of the bed, crying quietly, voice so raw she couldn’t speak. When she finally found her voice, the words croaked from her lips, drenched in desperate sorrow, _‘I think I might be pregnant’._ Followed by an agonising plea for Owen. She couldn’t do it without him. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. When the pregnancy test showed negative three times in a row, Karen expected her sister to be elated. There was nothing to worry about now. Claire didn’t have to raise Owen’s child without him. The news that it wasn’t the case only made her cry, her mind had suddenly changed. She rather live with a small piece of him, than with nothing at all. Fate was out of her hands and Karen couldn’t do anything to console her conflicted baby sister. 

Karen left reluctantly, charging Zach with guard duty. He was studying two hours away, cooped up in a dorm he didn’t like with rowdy neighbours. So, instead of spending his Thursday nights trying to tune out the sound of drunken pests for the whole weekend, he got in his car and drove to see Claire. He spend the weekend studying at the dining table, or sprawled across the couch. He was there to keep her company, to make sure, as his mother worried, that Claire didn’t fall in on herself. Zach didn’t think it was for the best. Claire didn’t like to break down in front of him, he was nineteen, her nephew, he didn’t know her grief to this extent. Instead, she bottled it up, or locked herself away from him. 

Claire ushered Zach back to campus with containers full of food. She cooked to much. Claire was used to cooking for herself and for Owen, for larger portions. She was used to leaving him leftovers for lunch. Zach saw the way her hands shook when she remembered something, a small nuance in her schedule, a nick in the plans. Claire usually pushed though it. Until the one night she didn’t, wine glass shattering to the floor, red liquid splashing against her toes. 

‘Aunt Claire, are you all right?’ He’d jumped up from the couch quicker than lightning, worry drawing lines on his face. She didn’t recover as quickly as she had been, her hands still shaking, her face lost. It took a minute before she snapped, shaking hands reaching for paper towel before she dropped to the floor and started cleaning the mess. ‘Everything okay?’ Zach asked quietly, too scared to know the answer as he joined her in the kitchen. She nodded, pushing it away. 

She wore his clothes to bed. The same shirt over and over until it lost its smell, then she moved onto the next one. Zach understood that one. It wasn’t so strange. None of her behaviour was strange, but silent. He didn’t understand the silence and the small melancholic little smiles. They looked painful and forced. They made his chest ache more than he liked to admit. He didn’t know his aunt as much as he liked to think, there were still years left unaccounted for, behaviours he should know. He could hardly imagine her _without_ Owen. It made everything harder. 

‘Do you want his bike?’ She asked one week, so casually he almost missed it. Zach blinked up at her. He didn’t know how to ride. Where would he put a bike? Instead, she sold it. They had no use for it. As much as it killed her to see it go, it was only collecting dust. Someone else could use it, could love it like Owen used to. Zach swore his aunt regretted that decision as soon as the bike was towed away from the house. She didn’t say anything. 

Claire made a passing comment to Zach, as she did the laundry that Owen’s shirts no longer smelt like him. That his side of the bed was neutral and no longer comforting in its familiar warmth. He worried, breath held in his throat, waiting for the tears, his mother on speed dial. Claire only smiled softly, shutting the lid to the machine and turning it on. It was the first time she’d seen her accept the fact that Owen wasn’t coming back, without crying. 

Zach knew things were getting better, even if Claire was still clinging to Owen’s things, some habits not yet ironed out. He was late one Thursday, getting into San Diego two hours later than he usually would have thanks to a campus committee meeting. The house was mostly quiet when he stepped in the door, soft sounds coming from the living room, familiar and pleasant. Hope bubbled in his chest, Zach didn’t know why. Until he heard it. The same voice that kept Zach and Gray safe from the Indominus at their heels. The voice that had become a warm addition to family events and FaceTiming with Claire. The voice and the guitar, musical stylings by Owen Grady; not that he had anything original, mostly old rock or whatever he could strum to annoy Claire as he followed he through the house. 

Zach panicked. What had his aunt found? He thought things were getting better. Had she regressed? He was too scared to turn the corner, to find her sobbing on the couch. When Zach discovered the strength, he found his aunt on the couch, legs tucked under her, laptop on the couch arm. There were no tears in her eyes, a soft, reminiscing smile on her face. 

He could hear Owen from the speakers, singing along to his guitar, crooning Elvis’ _Are You Lonesome Tonight?_ She was playing with a necklace around her neck, fingers holding onto the pendant he had never seen, dragging it across her lips. She whispered a soft ‘hey’ when she saw him in the doorway, inviting her nephew to sit down beside her. 

He did as she asked, curling up beside her. Owen played his guitar for the camera. When he finished, his smile was electric, the same grin Zach had seen countless times before, whenever Claire made an appearance, or so much as looked at him. 

‘ _I miss you,’_ Owen’s voice scratched out. Zach assumed the video was from one of Claire’s business trips, his aunt and uncle having to survive the distance between them for a couple of weeks a few times a year. _‘I was going to wait until you got home … actually I was going to wait until Christmas, but I can’t hold it in any longer. Go check your suitcase, I hid something in there for you. I hope the answer is yes. I love you, Claire.’_ The video clicked off and Zach turned to look at his aunt. She readjusted her hold on the pendant of her necklace, revealing an engagement ring. 

She’d only had it two weeks before he died. They kept it a secret, Owen too impatient to ask her the way he wanted too, loudly, with her family present, over Christmas. Instead, she gave him back the ring in the airport arrivals terminal, and he slipped it onto her finger, asking the question properly and promising to do it again. 

‘You don’t have to come see me every weekend,’ Claire told Zach, shutting the lid of her computer. ‘You should be having fun, partying, meeting beautiful girls. You don’t need to babysit me anymore, I’m okay.’ Zach shrugged, he liked getting away from campus. He hated seeing his aunt upset, but, it had never been too bad.

Claire was going back to work, her posture straightened out. She’d brushed her hair, straightened that too, no longer unruly waves, but neatly kept. Owen would want her to grieve any longer. She had the rest of her life for that, seeing him in little moments he would have loved as she lived out her days, likely alone. She was coming to terms with that, the ache in her chest didn’t hurt as much. She was once again, finally, comfortable in her home without company. 

‘If it’s okay with you,’ Zach started, ‘I’d still like to come down on weekends’. Claire wrapped her arms around her nephew, squeezing the boy tight. 

‘I’d love it’.


	67. #67 - Fire Evacuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From otpprompts  
> Imagine your OTP meeting when the fire alarm in their apartment building goes off at 3 am, and both of them are wearing next to nothing while waiting outside for firefighters to take care of the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wanted to do this for donkeys ... and now we're finally here.

The alarm was droning loudly. Requesting that residences vacate the premises and move to the pre approved fire evacuation location. Claire huffed as she shivered in the frigid air. She crossed her arms over her chest in mild agitation with herself for not grabbing a robe or a jacket as she walked out the door. 

She wasn’t the only one out there, shifting her feet uncomfortably against the cold grass as a few more people slipped out from the apartment block’s front doors. ‘At least it’s off season right?’ A male voice appeared next to her, dragging Claire’s attention away from the front of the building. She was curious to know if it was an actual fire, or one of the smoke alarms playing up again. If someone so much as burnt their dinner, the fire brigade were remotely called. 

She dragged her eyes towards the voice, the body beside her clad only in boxers, the man shivering just as much as she was. They were on an island, in Central America, how was it cold? Claire didn’t mean to stare at the rolling curves of the man’s chest, abs godly defined even as they quivered against the cold. She smiled weakly, blush rising on her cheeks. He seemed slightly grouchy, arms crossed over his muscular chest, inconvenienced like the rest of them, by the fire alarm that was set off at 3am. Most importantly, Claire struggled to recognise him. He had to be staff. The complex was only for staff with access codes. She chewed at the inside of her cheek, thrown off by his appearance in the middle of the night as she tried to recall who he could be. 

Jurassic World was gaining an influx of new staff in the coming weeks. Their first year proving to be success enough to bring on new staff, and start research. Too many names were crossing her desk, Claire didn’t know what to think. He was making small talk at least, expressing a gratefulness for the lack of staff that could have potentially seen them all standing around in their underwear. ‘You know, that’s probably the last thing I imagined Claire Dearing wore to bed.’ 

‘You think about what I wear to bed, often?’ Claire threw back as she bit her lip. There was no use being self conscious around the man who clearly knew of her when she hardly knew of him. At least her pyjamas were that of an oversized t-shirt and pyjama shorts. Rather than his boxers, which were leaving little to the imagination. ‘And, you are?’ She asked, wanting to add a quip about his pyjamas not being what she had imagined. There was such a thing as crossing a line, Claire feared they were already toeing it … the two of them the already the least dressed out of the small group. 

‘Owen Grady,’ He introduced, extending a large warm hand. Despite the fact that he was shivering, his body temperature was already miles higher than hers. The man was warm blooded, already acclimatised to Isla Nublar. Claire had heard his name somewhere before, her fingernails flicking through papers trying to remember exactly _how_. 

‘What’re you doing here, Mr Grady?’ She used his last name in the formal to distance herself, tiny shivering body desperately wanting to shuffle closer to his. This wasn’t like her at all, desperate for warmth, eager to step closer to a warm _male_ body. Claire shook her head, she was being ridiculous, it likely had something to do with sleep deprivation. 

Owen shrugged, small smile creeping at the corner of his lips, the rest of his face still settled in a stern look. ‘Ah, fire alarm went off. You gotta evacuate when that happens.’ Claire’s laugh surprised her, the noise jumping from her throat as she rolled her eyes at the ridiculous man. Owen grinned, the smile pulling at his face as he watched the glee on hers. ‘No, really. I just recently arrived for the research sector, they brought me in for the Velociraptors.’

‘They just recently hatched,’ Claire told him, a little interested. All research projects were not classified as assets, and further more, not deemed under her control as Senior Assets Manager. Claire always managed to find herself curious towards the creatures she did not have to keep her eyes on. The Velociraptors, being the newest born dinosaurs in the park, had peaked her interest significantly. 

Owen puffed out his chest a little at the mention of his Raptors hatching. ‘Sure did,’ He boasted proudly. Claire knew they were bringing someone in, an ex-navy man, to imprint on and work with the Raptors in a training program she didn’t know the exact details of. Clearly, Owen was their man. He was proud as punch, too, even so early in the morning. She was supposed to set up a meeting with him in the following weeks. Even though _his_ Raptors were not under her watchful eye, she was still required to introduce herself to the staff. 

‘You know,’ Owen stated once she shivered for the ten-thousandth time, the fire trucks only now appearing with their red and blue lights. ‘I think I have a spare change of clothes in my tuck, if you’re cold?’ It was only then that Claire realised he was holding onto a set of car keys, evidently smart enough to grab them on his way out. 

Claire agreed weakly, the cold seeping into her bones, making her limbs feel numb. He moved ahead for his car, in the parking spaces just to the left of the building. He ruffled through the small backseat, searching through a bag before Owen turned to her with a shirt in his hands. ‘It’s clean, I promise.’ He offered, slipping it over her head without waiting for her permission. ‘Not that you can complain, your lips are turning blue.’ Claire’s hand flew to her mouth, covering the chapped skin there as she flashed wide eyes at him. 

Owen wrapped his hands around her wrists before he shuffled them, switching places so he could hoist Claire up into his truck. Her shivering only grew deeper when she folded herself into a small ball, brining her knees up under his shirt. Claire inhaled deeply, soaking in the unfamiliar smell of Owen Grady sandalwood, dirt, something entirely _man_ , and warm. ‘Better?’ He asked boxing her in, hoping to conceal some warmth. Claire nodded shyly, thanking him on a quiet whisper. ‘You know,’ He started again, face a little too close to hers. ‘You should come down, see the girls while they’re too little for mass destruction.’ His green eyes gleamed, face setting off in flashes of the firetruck lights. Red, then blue, red, then blue. Claire was hypnotised. ‘And maybe I can take you to lunch - or dinner - after?’ 

It was either the sudden warmth of his truck, or the slight embarrassment that sent a blush running across Claire’s cheeks. No matter what it was, she didn’t have the heart to turn him down, not while they were locked out of their building at 3am. 


	68. #68 - Charlie, Elliot, and Skype

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: Owen and Claire take an unprecedented romantic getaway to celebrate their anniversary. Leaving Charlie and Elliot in Karen’s capable hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is less than admirable, I had to figure out how to get back into their heads after working with Bear for so long.

The face that stared back at them, as their connection cleared was that of their grumpy daughter. Charlie’s mouth turned down in a deep frown, as she scowled at the computer screen in front of her. 

‘Hey baby,’ Owen grinned, waving at the camera, as Charlie’s scowl deepened. That girl knew how to hold a grudge, unfortunately her parents were at the end of this one and they knew it. Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, creasing her pyjamas as she did so, ‘Did Aunt Karen braid your hair?’ Owen asked, noticing the braid that fell over her shoulder. 

Charlie shrugged, flicking the braid over her little shoulder so her father couldn’t see it anymore. Claire rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what game the seven-year-old was playing. ‘Are you having fun with Aunt Karen?’ 

She shrugged again, long and low, ‘I’m grumpy with you’. 

‘We’ve noticed,’ Owen supplied. She was grumpy with them, like any slightly involved child ever was. Her parents wedding anniversary rolled around. Five years, enough to earn them a quiet vacation away from the children. Charlie didn’t think so. Elliot didn’t seem to mind. ‘You know, Charlie-Bear, it’s nowhere near as fun here, without you.’ That was a lie. For the first time since Charlie was born, Owen and Claire managed to spend a whole day in bed, by themselves. 

Why their daughter was more interested in the idea of a bed and breakfast in Savannah, Georgia, than a weekend with her aunt had managed to puzzle her parents. None the less, Charlie was left behind, relinquished to Karen’s able hands. Claire’s sister was ecstatic with having her nieces for the weekend, chirping something about the sound of children in her house again. 

‘Well,’ Charlie started, voice matter of fact, face still drawn in a serious scowl. ‘We had Gray come visit.’ She was boasting, or at least she thought she was boasting. Gray, who had graduated from child brainiac, to adult brainiac in the seven years since Jurassic World, was still lovingly doted upon by every member of the family. Especially his young cousins. Charlie practically thought the world revolved around Gray most days.

Claire and Owen feigned jealously, shock and surprise in their voices as they asked after their nephew. Charlie opened up after that, giddily telling them every excruciating detail about her night at Aunt Karen’s. She was gloating. Which wasn’t a good look on anyone, especially Charlie. But, the girl had a certain habit with rubbing salt into any wound. 

They were pleased in the least, that she hadn’t locked her aunt in the basement. ‘Where’s your sister?’ Owen asked, noting it was just Charlie, sitting in her pyjamas on Karen’s bed. Charlie slid her aunts computer across the bedsheets, disrupting the connection she had with her parents. 

When the image settled, the connection restored, Owen and Claire were treated with the sight of their three-year-old, curled in a ball, little face relaxed and fast asleep on Karen’s bed. ‘She couldn’t wait up,’ Charlie told them, her head appearing upside down in the top corner of the screen. Owen chuckled, Elliot wouldn’t miss her sleep for anything, including a 6:30pm Skype call with her parents. 

Evidently, Karen had run them ragged, causing both girls to be drowsy eyed and half asleep. They marvelled at their daughter for a second, minds set as ease to see both girls okay in their absence. It wasn’t until Charlie announced that she’d kiss her sister goodnight for them, that it all fell apart. 

Disrupting Elliot while she slept was asking for a death wish. Even as a newborn, when they had to wake her to feed her, the girl would put up a fuss, keeping everyone awake longer just for the hassle. Charlie knew this and still she lowered her face to Elliot’s and kissed her gently on the cheek. She should have expected her sisters grunt, and little hand pushing against her face, and yet she looked completely bewildered when it happened. 

Owen couldn’t help the chuckle as Charlie stared at him through the camera shock on her face as she held her cheek, baby sister shifting beside her. At least she hadn’t actually woken the girl up. ‘I’m not loving her anymore,’ Charlie pouted, her arms crossing over her chest again. 

Their objections to her statement fell on deaf ears. Charlie felt what she felt about Elliot, which nine times out of ten, was unconditional love. She still, however, was stuck in the _I don’t want a sibling_ phase, despite her sister being three. They were already driving Claire half mad with their silly little arguments, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as soon as she heard their angered voices. She wasn’t made for children, no matter what Owen thought. She loved her daughters, but she had her limits. 

Owen loved it. Got some odd kick out of fights over glitter and who was using what toy first. He liked sitting in the middle of them, Elliot on his knee, Charlie leaning against his shoulder as he dissolved whatever it was that had brought them both to tears. He was made for that. Even know, sitting in the hotel bed, daughters viewed on their phone, he was laughing at Charlie. 

‘When are you coming home?’ The girl asked softly, all disappointment having vanished from her face. Owen promised her soon, counting out the days for her, full proof that he intended on returning when he said he would. She blew him a kiss when Karen’s voice whispered through the speakers that it was time for bed, the little girl uttering a quick _‘love you’_ before signing off. 

He turned to his wife, kissing her on the cheek lovingly as Owen discarded his phone. ‘I love ‘em to death, but I am so thankful for this vacation.’ Claire giggled in agreement, happy for the small sight of her children before returning to her holiday mode, sinking deeper into her husbands touch. 


	69. #69 - Owen Gets a Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire gives Owen a haircut

He was scraggly, unkept nine times out of ten. His hair was made of outrageous curls, looping in curlicues down to his ears and across his forehead. It was endearing at first, how such a man could hold such childlike hair. Claire would loose herself in it, willingly, a hand tucked against the nape of his neck, or pushing at his forehead. 

He was lazy. To put it at the least. Or at least claimed he didn’t have time for a hairdresser to cut his hair. ‘ _It’s fine, Claire,’_ He told her, despite the length getting a little too close to his eyes. The steady beard that was growing across his cheeks started to bother her just as much as his steadily growing head of hair. He was turning into a caveman, and as much as she wanted not to care, Claire was growing sick of the beard burn on her delicate and _pale_ skin.

How she managed to finally get him to agree to a haircut was a miracle in itself. He sat eagerly, although a little disheartened on a chair in the middle of the bathroom to their small, shared, flat. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Owen asked her, a little skeptical, as Claire surveyed the utensils at her disposal. He already owned clippers, Claire discovered, why he didn’t just fix his hair on his own time was completely beyond her. 

Claire shrugged, ‘You don’t organise yourself, I’ll do it for you,’ She should have just booked him an appointment and dragged him along. ‘Karen and I used to play _beauty school_ as kids. I’ve got this.’ The way she worried her bottom lip between her teeth didn’t strike confidence in Owen. He let her go for it anyway, thrilled to learn something new about her childhood. 

Claire waisted no time in dampening his hair with a spray bottle, before pulling out the number four clipper. She knew what number instinctively, just like she knew what size to buy him when she saw something she fancied. They’d been together a small number of months, enough to invest in an apartment yet still not know the little details about one an other. Owen let her work from instinct. He trusted her more than she thought he should. 

Her hands still shook from the Jurassic World incident, the ground still unsteady below her feet. Claire gripped tight to the clippers in her hand, pushing them against his head hesitantly. She had been pestering him for weeks to go get his hair cut, Owen refused until she suggested rather confidently that she could do it herself. That confidence was starting to slip from her. 

Owen’s hand reached around the back of the chair, to squeeze her leg, silently instilling support as she moved the clippers slowly up the back of his head. She stayed there a while, making sure not to miss a single spot before moving outwards, reaching over and behind his ears. The buzzing of the clippers ceased when Claire was finished, the tool discarded to the bathroom counter and replaced with a comb and a pair of scissors. She instantly started pulling and tugging, the scissors crunched against his hair before he felt strands fall lightly back to his head. She fluffed with his hair for twenty minutes, shifting around behind him before she stood in front of him, peering instantly at his head. 

Owen didn’t pause in pulling Claire into his lap, the woman squeaking softly as she settled on his thighs, smiling at him shyly. ‘How do I look?’ Claire crinkled her nose, leaning back to get a better look. She had left him with a little length, leaving a small curl to dangle down against his forehead, still enough to cart her fingers through, without it being too short. 

‘Much better,’ She hummed, hands already reaching to run through his hair, fingers gliding across his scalp. Owen peppered kisses across her cheeks, before descending, dropping them down the line of her neck as Claire mewled. ‘That has to go too,’ She tapped at his fuzzy cheek, the hair there getting dangerously close to the idea of being a beard. Owen pouted. Claire wasn’t hearing a word of dispute, she had enough rashes to prove the beard was fun in theory but not in practicality. 

She kissed him delicately once, twice, her hand cupping his chin before she pulled away. Propping herself up on the bathroom counter, sink filling will cold water beside her, Claire beckoned Owen forward. He moved, raising from the chair to step between her legs, Claire’s knees tightening at his hips, her ankles locking behind his back. ‘Say goodbye,’ She told him softly, carting her fingers through the small growth. Owen grinned, quickly burying his head against her neck and rubbing his beard across her soft skin. Claire squealed, one hand digging into his shoulder, while the other tapped at his ribs. 

When Owen pulled back his grin was victorious, and also unsuspecting of the slap of shaving cream Claire threw across his face. ‘I hate you,’ She scowled through a light in her eyes, mostly humoured. She’ll complain later about the way her skin itches thanks to him.

‘No, you don’t,’ Owen ribbed back, his hands tight on her waist, centring himself. 

Claire shrugged, twisted at the waist, as she searched for something on the counter. ‘I’ll like you a lot more once that scratchy mess is gone.’ She held up the straight razor in triumph before putting it down and returning to lathering his face in shaving cream. Her hand was steady with the straight razor, removing the hair from his chin and cheeks easily. 

Owen watched her face, eyes concentrated on the way her tongue poked between her lips, and how softly her eye lashes brushed against her cheek when she blinked. He counted every freckle below her intense blue eyes, and traced them across her nose. His breath caught in his throat as he followed an errant curl of her hair to the slope of her jaw. There wasn’t a single thing he didn’t admire about Claire. Every inch of her was irreplaceable gold, honest treasure, divine porcelain. He relaxed his hold on her hips, skating his hands down towards her knees and back again, once, twice, before Claire whispered, her face suddenly _too_ close to his; ‘Did you just realise you love me?’ Her voice was faint, barely there as her eyelids fluttered. 

He didn’t respond, not verbally, his mouth crashed down on hers, caught in other thoughts to care about the cream on his face or if she had finished with his hair. The razor popped into the bathroom basin, Claire’s fingers abandoning it to catch his face. Her fingers slid across his cheeks, and out past his ears to grip, like a drowning woman, to the back of his neck. Herhold was tight, dragging him down against her like he held all the oxygen left in the world. 

They had walked on eggshells, tiptoed around beds, caressed skin they thought wasn’t theirs to caress, until that moment. There was no argument of post traumatic stress, and her dependency on him, purely for being through the same thing she had. For now, Claire was trying to be quiet, the only noise drifting from her throat were easy whimpers and desperate moans. Owen peppered kisses down her throat, punctuating each word with a soft admission of love. 

There were still so many obstacles on the path, obstructing the good thing he was trying to build. But for now, in this moment, her hands in his hair, his lips on her skin. They had everything they needed. 


	70. #70 - Charlie and Expecting Elliot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: the time Claire found out she was expecting Elliot, and told Owen

Claire was surprised that he hadn’t caught on. They had been through this before. Although, she was told, rather constantly and unprompted, that every pregnancy was different. Even in the early days, there were a lot more similarities than not. 

A large portion of her pregnancy with Charlie was spent curled up in bed, asleep. Although that was likely an onset of her postnatal depression rather than the general exhaustion she was fighting now. Fighting was the wrong word. Claire couldn’t attempt to keep her eyes open even if sleeping were to kill her. 

Owen found it amusing, Charlie too, catching Claire asleep in the first ten seconds of a film, and drifting off in Charlie’s bed when she tried to read to the girl before lights out. She snoozed at the park, and in the car, Samantha, her assistant had even caught her asleep at work. It was becoming a bad habit, and yet, no one called her on it. 

‘That kid is going to send me to an early grave,’ Owen signed, heavy body dropping to the mattress, long day finally over. Claire laughed, halfheartedly agreeing as she unclasped her earrings at the bureau. If she could be certain of one thing, and one thing only, it was how much Owen adored Charlie. They spent the better half of an afternoon that day, sitting in the cooling air, as he and the girl tackled each other in the grass. _Tackled_. Someone had told her once, when she was pregnant with the girl, that little girls were nothing but sweet interactions and good manners. They had seemingly misjudged Charlie Grady before she had been born, and the girl was hellbent on proving them otherwise.

She was sugar and spice, but not quite everything nice. The grass stains on her new overalls, and up the arms of a white shirt Claire knew better than to put her in, were all proof of how messy that little girl could be. Owen adored it. They both did. Until there was muddy foot prints through the hallway, and glitter on the walls. She got to be a little exhausting most days, pushing every limit and button she could get her hands on. They loved her for toeing the line between cheeky and naughty, for pushing her boundaries and limitations. They just wished, she could do it a little slower. 

‘Mommy?’ Charlie’s little voice called out, face suddenly appearing in the doorway. The girl rubbed at her eyes for affect, pretending that she had been asleep for the last hour, like Owen had thought she was. Claire doubted - in fact, she would put money on it - that Charlie had been in bed asleep. She was far more likely up, _wide awake_ , trying to plan whatever was about to come out of her mouth. 

Claire turned to her, watching the little redhead in the doorway, wondering how similar Charlie was to herself as a young girl. ‘I thought you were in bed?’

‘Nope. I’m not.’ Charlie shook her head, matter of fact, shoulders shrugging nonchalant. Without permission, she stepped into the room and ran for her father.

From day one Owen was at Charlie’s every beck and all. Claire held the authority in the house, but it was Owen the young girl ran too when she wanted something, or needed something, even things as simple as a hug. She was far more affectionate towards him than she had ever been with Claire. There were cuddles and kisses, and love and affection between the two - just not as often as what Owen received. She hoped, quietly to herself, boy or girl, that this baby loved her as much as Charlie unconditionally, and openly loved Owen. 

Her father didn’t hesitate in lifting her up off the floor and settling her into his lap. Charlie cuddled against him immediately. ‘What’s wrong?’ Owen asked the question, coddling her only a little, light kiss pressed to her cheek.   


Claire watched her daughter cuddle Owen, face pressed into his chest. Her heart ached for the girl’s early days, barely a year old, cuddled up in Claire’s lap as she finished the last of her progress reports. It was only a matter of months before they would have that again.  
  
‘Can I have a puppy?’ Charlie asked innocently, batting soft eyelashes towards her mother as Claire snapped from her daydream. It was gaining on 9pm and their daughter was wide eyed and bushy tailed, almost on the verge of _begging_ for a puppy. 

Claire raised an eyebrow, unclasping the bracelet Owen - in honour of Charlie - bought on her first Mother’s Day. ’Is that what is keeping you up at night?’ The girl nodded meekly, trying to hide the giggle that sat between her teeth.   
  
Owen’s face lit up, ‘Hey, that sounds like a good idea’. Claire shot her husband a look that told him to shut his mouth before he said anything else. She could hear the rest of the argument on his tongue. Charlie was almost five, old enough to learn about responsibility and put it into play. A dog would be perfect. Well, maybe it would, after they trialled her with a fish. She could hear Owen’s argument now, Charlie already helped with the rounds twice weekly at the zoo. If she could do it there, she could do it at home. All in all, if she wasn’t pregnant, Claire might have actually sat down with their daughter and legitimately talked about it. That wasn’t the case. 

Claire kissed her daughter on the cheek, and pushed back the already loose strands of hair from her braid. ’I’ll talk to Daddy about it later. But now,’ She lifted Charlie from Owen’s lap, squeezing the girl tightly before setting her on her feet. ‘Bed.’ Charlie pouted, wide bottom lip curling against her chin. ‘Go on, Daddy will tuck you in … again.’ She raced off easily with the news, her giggles too energetic for nine o’clock at night. Owen followed Charlie. His voice drifted down the hall as he tucked her in for the second time, and kissed her goodnight. 

Claire filled his vacant spot on the bed, lying on her back, hands on her stomach as she listened to the noises down the hall. Charlie’s giggles finally stopped, Owen’s voice falling quiet before his footsteps resonated against the floorboards. 

‘Second time is the charm,’ Owen settled beside her, Claire offering him a gentle correction. _Third time is the charm_. ‘She’ll stay in bed.’ She hummed, not convinced. Charlie’s freedom, in the form of her _big girl_ bed, usually ended with the girl waking them at inconvenient hours of the night, or simply curling up in their bed. ‘What do you think of the dog idea?’ He asked, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck. 

‘Not now.’ 

‘Why not?’ He did as she expected, listing off all the reasons why Charlie was ready for a pet. All the reasons why he maybe-really-definitely wanted a dog. Why he thought pecking at her neck would weaken her resolve was weak on his part. Accurate, but slightly weak. She giggled against his touch, pushing at his chest in order to drag herself away. ‘We could surprise her for her birthday. Get a rescue?’ Charlie for one, would kill him if they picked a dog out _for_ her. 

Claire shook her head, pecking him on his cheek for the effort. ‘Honey, a dog isn’t a good idea. We have enough going on.’ She wanted to tell him, to let the words fall out but she couldn’t find them, stuck behind her teeth somewhere searching for the right moment. When he pushed a second ‘why not’ Claire managed to find them. ‘I’m pregnant,’ She couldn’t help the devilish grin that dragged across her face as Owen stared at her in shock. 

It wasn’t how she wanted to tell him. Even though she hadn’t thought it out. Claire felt as though she was waiting for another admission on how Charlie was put on this earth just to drive him insane. How easily the words would stumble from her mouth then. Telling him to get used to it before the child gained a companion. This moment would have to do instead. 

Leaning over her, face inches from hers Owen whispered, ’Really?’ Her soft nod and quiet _‘mm-hm’_ welled tears in her husband’s wide eyes. He cupped her face in his hands, gently peppering kisses across her cheeks, her eyelids, her lips. She couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that rumbled through her chest, Owen scattering his love across her face, holding her like she was the most precious thing on the planet. 

Claire pulled back lightly when a tear landed on her cheek, her thumbs stroking Owen’s face. ‘You’re crying?’ She whispered, humour still on her tongue as she blinked up at him, wiping away his tears. Of course he was crying, the man laughed, his tears happy. 

She should have known from the beginning, as soon as they started calling him mama bear around the park. Owen was very much the parent to his raptors as he was their Alpha. Childrearing was a little different in comparison to Velociraptor intelligence studies, but there were enough similarities. He loved nurturing Charlie, teaching her, guiding her. It practically killed him when she went off to school, Owen insisting on a home school program and falling short when Claire denied it. 

The more the merrier, he always teased, pulling at her hips and playfully, lining her neck in kisses. He begged on his knees for a second child. Here lay his hopes and dreams, tucked under neatly her skin. 

Claire couldn’t keep her joyous giggles to herself as Owen returned to peppering her face with kisses, punctuating each one with an _‘I love you’_. He ended a loving admiration of her body with a peck to her abdomen, sleep shirt rolled up, his ear to her belly. She wound a hand through the locks of his hair, sighing gently as he breathed against her. 

They had been here before. In the darkened foyer downstairs five years ago, when she sobbed around her secret for the first time. He pressed kiss after kiss against her stomach until her heart spilled to the floor, her deepest darkest fears let free in the room around them. 

‘Are you happy?’ She asked, eyes fluttering closed, sleepy already. Owen hummed, kissing her skin a last time before he climbed back up the bed and kissed her nose. 

‘Are you serious? Of course I’m happy! I’m over the moon … hell, I’m on Pluto!’ He bounced the bed slightly, eyes still alight with her revelation. 

With her hands on his face, Claire whispered, ‘Come back to me’. 

‘I’m here,’ Owen kissed her nose again, ‘I’m here for you, for Charlie, and for this baby.’ The glee was uncontainable, presenting itself in little kisses on her skin once again. ‘We’ll send the two of them to Pluto when they hit their teens though … okay?’ 

Claire hummed, ‘Oh definitely … especially if it’s another girl’. 


	71. #71 - Charlie and Expecting Elliot (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can you write about when Charlie found out her mother was expecting Elliot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have taken place a few weeks after the first part.

They knew from the beginning that it wasn’t going to go well. But, optimistically, they held onto hope. 

Charlie hummed, her response awaited on by baited breath. ‘No thanks,’ She answered easily, batting green eyes at them both. She turned back to her colouring, scribbling delicately across the page, tongue poking out between her teeth while her parents floundered on the other side of the kitchen bench. 

Claire recovered first, ‘I beg your pardon’. 

As if it had inconvenienced her greatly, Charlie raised her head and stared blankly at her mother. ‘No thanks, I don’t want a baby.’ Her shrug was simple, wishing to move on. ‘I only asked for a puppy.’ 

They knew this was going to be difficult. Owen silent beside her, hands in his lap. Claire scrubbed a hand over her face. ‘Aren’t you excited?’ Her voice was flat, she’d given up the second Charlie so much as blinked at them after the words were out of her mouth. 

Charlie had an inability to share. She was well mannered, polite, and kind on occasion. Nothing was worse than asking Charlie to divide her attention on a toy, a book, the last of her dessert, or her parents. She knew how to do these things. She elected not to do them. News that her life would now be split into two categories: hers and the baby’s, was borderline temper tantrum. She shook her head at her mother’s question, her shoulders shrugging once again. 

Claire wondered if they had done too good of a job in raising their daughter to be self sufficient and strong. All it seemed to do was teach her to talk back, and be a little less than emotionally invested on big topics. She was a good girl, Claire knew that, just a little bossy when she wanted to be. There was no way they could possibly come out of this discussion with everyone happy. 

Charlie Grady did not want a sibling. 

‘You know,’ Owen started after he watched Claire flounder. ‘Uncle Travis and Aunt Lorna are my baby brother and sister. I wasn’t very excited when Nan and Pop told me about them. But once they were home, I couldn’t believe how much I loved them. Its okay if you’re not excited, but very soon there will be a baby living with us.’ It wasn’t entirely true. Owen was the same age as Charlie when his parents told him about Travis. In a similar way, sitting in the kitchen, waiting for dinner. He was over the moon. As a boy he could hardly wait for his brother to be born, and again for his sister. Charlie got her stubbornness from her mother. 

The girl sighed, hand on her cheek as she contemplated the colours on her page for a second. ‘I just really want a dog.’ 

‘I promise you,’ Claire caught her daughter’s eye, speaking with earnest. ‘Having a sibling is going to be a lot more fun than a dog … and a lot less responsibility too. Well, I mean, you won’t have to feed the baby, and take them for walks. But, as their Big Sister Daddy and I need you to watch out for them.’ 

Charlie shrugged again, ‘A dog still sounds better’. Her mother sighed, long and low, ankles already starting to ache as she tried to ignite some form of excitement in her daughter. 

Owen rubbed at Claire’s back, feeling just as defeated, if not a little more humoured than she was. Charlie would come around, eventually … before the baby was born. ‘Okay. Well, we’re going to make dinner, maybe watch that new movie we bought. If you have any questions, or you just want to talk to Daddy and I about the baby, you can Charlie.’ She only nodded, interest slightly piqued at the suggestion of _Inside Out_ which sat, still in its plastic on the coffee table. 

They were an open book for her if she needed them. There was nothing she could ask that would surprise Owen and Claire. In fact, they’d already been over the baby topic with her after her best friend Nichole gained a baby brother last year. She was interested in babies then, when they weren’t potentially related to her. 

Charlie allowed the kiss her mother deposited on her head, asking what colour she should use next before Claire turned toward the pantry. ‘Just like that?’ Owen whispered behind her. 

‘If she doesn’t want to talk about it now, she will come to us later.’ He kissed his wife on the cheek, hand skating over her hip before he turned for the other end of the kitchen. They could only wait for the afternoon that Charlie would curl up beside Claire and feign disinterest in a sibling, while asking softly if she could have a brother. And, under no circumstances, would she be sharing her things. 


	72. #72 - It's Been So Long You've Broken Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soifyoudaretofindme: “we have a lot of mutual friends so we see each other more than two broken up people usually do and i know we’re not really close anymore but you’re wearing that stupid (adorable) hat you always wore when you were upset so tell me what’s wrong because it’s literally killing me to see you look so sad” AU
> 
> FROM THIS POST: http://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/138778708399/post-breakup-aus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one today

Owen Grady didn’t own hats. Despite his better judgement, the man didn’t find them necessary. None, but one. He held an exception for one hat in particular, something he’d had since college, acquired in a dusty haze of common rooms and never ending parties. 

She only saw it on bad days. Fabric pulled down over his ears, concealing everything but a few locks of his hair. After the events of Jurassic World it became a semi permanent accessory. With all hope lost they wandered aimlessly in the dark, letting the emptiness seep into their bones and consume them whole. 

Things got better. He stopped wearing the hat. She stopped pouting. They lived their lives, until they parted ways.

She hadn’t seen it in a long time. She _hadn’t_ seen _him._

They had took to keeping in contact with the likes of Barry and Lowery after the events at the park. Barbecued get togethers became a well relied upon ritual once they all reached San Diego, each of them vowing to not loose contact. Even after Claire had deemed herself and Owen as unable to work, she still arrived every time Barry or Lowery called.

‘Is Owen okay?’ She asked quietly, leaning into the shoulder of Barry’s fiancee. The woman smiled, nodding her head. As far as she knew, Owen was perfectly fine. Claire knew better. He was slumped on Barry’s couch, caught in mild conversation with Lowery, beanie on his head. 

He looked lost, forlorn and tired. Like he had waded through the woods just to get here, unable to give full commitment to the fight. The bags under his eyes were heavy and dark, the lines on his face running too deep. Claire hadn’t seen him for several weeks, months since they _broke up._ He looked horrible and that was just Claire being honest. 

Something pulled in her chest at the sight of Owen far more worse for wear than she had ever seen him. Owen was bright, vivacious, and undeniably playful. He was practically borderline mischievous. Alive with the spark in his eye, and humour pulling at his lips. It was strange seeing him as anything less, wrong and off putting. Claire couldn’t stand it, uneasy feeling in her gut. 

Claire took a seat beside him, the only space available in the small living room. Owen practically flinched when she did, pulling himself a little closer to the arm of the couch. 

‘Are you all right?’ She asked meekly, her fingers gently gracing his arm. The others were caught in their own conversation, too busy to notice that Owen and Claire had checked out, nervous tension building between them. Owen shrugged, listening to her sigh his name. ‘You can talk to me.’ She tapped his beanie, non verbally electing to tell him that she knew what it meant. 

‘I miss you,’ He mumbled, unable to look at her as Claire sighed herself. 

‘We don’t work, Owen.’ Hands pressed between her knees Claire could feel her own posture slumping. Her own fowl mood descended to greet her, making the woman feel how Owen looked. ‘Survival only lasted so long.’ To the point that they were ready to suffocate each other for some semblance of a sane mind. 

He looked ridiculous in sweat pants, and a _thankfully_ clean t-shirt, beanie slouched on his head. Claire had seen it all before, and no matter how crazy he looked, how sad and remotely desperate she just wanted to kiss his cheek and drop her head to his shoulder. He was _adorable_ in that dumb hat, select curls of his messy blond hair sprouting from underneath it. 

‘We don’t have to get back together. I miss having you around. Lunch is all I’m asking.’ It hurt her to see him so upset. The ache in her chest unbearable at the sight of his sad green eyes. Saying yes wouldn’t hurt anyone. She still _loved_ Owen, they just didn’t work in small spaces for long periods of time. If she could keep telling herself that, things would be all right. 

She nodded once, twice, small smile fluttering across her lips. ‘Okay.’ 


	73. #73 - Wedding Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn: ‘It’s my [insert family relation here]’s wedding and seeing all these happy couples is killing me and all I can think about is how this was almost us’ AU (bonus: ‘I know that it’s two in the morning and I’m dressed really formally and a little (a lot) drunk but I couldn’t stop thinking about you after my grandma asked how you were doing also can I come in it’s freezing out here’)
> 
> FROM THIS POST: http://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/138778708399/post-breakup-aus

He couldn’t help but draw a relation as Owen sat in the church pews sombrely watching his cousin get married. They had been so close. He and Claire. He just never had the chance to give her a ring. He had one, tucked away in the back of his nightstand drawer, unfortunately never forgotten.

Something had spooked Claire. It chased her far away while his back was turned. He missed the whole thing, unable to stop it, unable to call her back.

He couldn’t help the daydream as he watched the soon to be newlyweds say their vows. Claire had always been beautiful in white. Her dress would be classic, tulle and lace flowing in rivers down to the floor. It didn’t take much for Claire Dearing to take his breath away. She was beautiful beyond a doubt and the soul reason why he’d developed a respiratory problem whenever he was around her. He watched the look on his cousins face, the way his breath seemed to catch, front teeth sinking into his bottom lip all at the sight of his soon to be wife. Owen could relate. 

He didn’t see himself as a mussy sort of man, overly fond of romantic gestures and being in touch with his feelings. That wasn’t how his father raised him. Undeniably, that personality rested under tough Navy bred skin. 

Owen closed his eyes. He breathed in the smell of the old church, fresh flowers and newly burning candles, pretending only for a split second that he was somewhere else. Owen could see her, without a doubt, Claire Dearing unable to hold back her smile tears shimmering in the corners of her eyes. She would have had Zach on one side, Gray on the other, her nephews the only men she’d ever want to have give her away. He would have been a mess. He could already feel his throat tighten, his heartbeat stop at the thought of a fictional version of Claire. Something he so badly wanted to be real.

She would have been magnificent. _She still was._

He could barely make it through the rest of the ceremony, daydreaming that it was him up there, Claire beside him, trying to hold back her giggles. He liked to think that she would be giggling, her joy unrelenting. His chest ached. 

The reception passed in a blur of familiar faces, each one patting him on the back and kissing his cheeks. A few stopped to comment that he should break away from the bar, meet some of Laura’s friends. Owen shrugged each and every one of them off, holding his mother down with a pitiful look. They left him be, allowed the sorrows to be drowned as the bridal waltz began. 

Something snapped inside of him, breaking in his hollow chest, when his grandmother asked into Claire. News hadn’t reached the elderly woman that they had parted ways. She looked as bereaved as he felt when she sighed, tutting something about how much she had liked _‘the young lass’_. Owen could only agree, downing the rest of his drink with a mournful _‘me too’._

_*_

Owen couldn’t put his finger on how he got there, standing in the winter chill as he knocked on Claire’s door. He swayed a little as he waited, arms tucked into his coat, trying in some feeble attempt to keep warm. He was shivering, teeth close to chattering, on the edge of turning away, or freezing to death on her doorstep when he heard the lock unlatch. 

‘Owen?’ Claire’s voice was quiet, her face half crumpled in sleep, half annoyed at what he assumed was the late hour. ‘What do you want?’ She asked, grumbling at him softly, one hand pushing through her loose hair. He fixated on that for a moment, noting how long the red strands had grown since he last saw her, since he last heard her say she was trying to grow it out again. ‘Owen?’ She repeated his name. 

He suddenly felt sober, and insane. ‘Wh-what time is it?’ He asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t look pleased. It was two in the morning, ‘Where have you been?’ She gave him the once over, taking in the sight of him in formalwear. Owen fixed his posture, straightening slightly, his shoulders a little hunched. 

‘I wanted to marry you,’ The words came out, out of his control, out of his mind to hit her in the face. Claire recoiled, flinching in the doorway, her hand on the jamb. She watched him sway and shiver wondering quietly where it all managed to go wrong. 

‘You’re drunk, Owen, go home.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, giving the man a pointed stare in a hope that he would turn his back and walk away. She didn’t want to talk to him about what could have been not while the ache in her chest was still raw. 

He asked to come in on a whimper. Claire ushered him in, unable to turn the man away despite her better judgement. He was as hurt as a wounded and abandoned puppy, eyes wide as he stepped past her, caught in disbelief. She left him to settle himself in a living room they used to share. That alone was enough to stir the guilt in her gut, the trepidation that allowed him space on her couch. Claire returned, glass of water in her hand, spare linen tucked under her arm. 

‘You’re staying the night,’ She told him, no room for argument. Claire half wondered if he had the strength to sneak into her - their - room after she went back to bed. Some small part of her wanted him to. To remind her she hadn’t frosted over completely, that she made a rash decision in kicking him out. 

Owen downed the glass of water easily, holding it between his knees as he watched her face intensely. ‘I miss you’. Claire felt her heart clench. ‘I miss you so _goddamn_ much.’ He was desperate, soul bared, heart in his hands. 

This wasn’t easy for either of them. She should have thrown him out, kicked him to the curb to work off his hangover in her front yard. Waking with Owen in her home once again, regardless of if he was on the couch was too much. ‘Goodnight, Owen’. Claire whispered, one hand on his cheek, rubbing a small circle against his scratchy stubble as she kissed his cheek. 

‘Please,’ He sighed, hands on her hips, holding her in position for a second longer. The plea was unclear, the word breathless on his lips, trying to fill an empty space, and mend their broken hearts. ‘What went wrong?’ Owen asked when she stepped away, eyes glistening with tears. 

She made it to the archway between the living room and the hallway, heavy sigh pulling at her shoulders, whisper on her tongue. ‘I don’t know.’ _We just didn’t work_. Owen didn’t say anything. He watched her go, disappearing into the dark of the house. 

Owen made sure he was gone in the morning before she woke up. 


	74. #74 - Hammock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends just here to remind you not to imagine your otp on a hammock together. Don’t imagine Person B is asleep on Person A’s chest and definitely don’t imagine Person A with one foot on the floor so they can rock the hammock in hopes of keeping Person B asleep
> 
> (I still have not seen the original for this post - but, it's not mine).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the second drabble I wrote for clawen, and the second piece published in this collection. I never gave it a number, because it wasn't a prompt from you guys, it was just something that I wanted to write. It left the numbering here on A03 out by one and that was finally starting to bother me. 
> 
> I deleted it, and am adding it back again with a number - #74 ... even though it should be #2 but that takes too much work.

The weather was hot, humid, sticky with an everlasting summer. She could feel the freckles sprouting on her skin under the Costa Rican sun. Her hair, sticking to the back of her neck, dripping trails of sweat down the curves of her spine. 

Claire Dearing was starting to feel claustrophobic, trapped in close proximity to Isla Nublar, unable to leave. Masrani Global and InGen wanted their employees to stay put. A headache started to throb behind her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping. Masrani pulled her in and out of meetings, interviews, phone conferences. Everyone wanted to know what happened and how. Everyone wanted a piece of Claire Dearing, the woman who single handedly ran from a T-Rex in high heels.

She didn’t sleep, even in the little time she had. Blinking alone saw her with horrific flashes of sharp teeth and even sharper talons. Instead, Claire ran, toes digging into the sand, salt sticking to her skin. She created her own momentum, no fear for the T-Rex on her heels, flare burning in her hand. She ran until her heart pounded dangerously, until her lungs burned far beyond her limits. 

Claire forced herself to trek back to her quaint room, hopeful for the ice cold of her air conditioning. Someone had made themselves comfortable on one of the beaches hammocks, towel and bag below him, shaded by the leaves of the two trees that held his hammock up. He swung, one foot pushing off from the stand every so often. 

Claire recognised him almost immediately, the board shorts strikingly familiar on tone, tan, legs. She approached him without hesitation, confident in who he was, old crime thriller in his lap. 

He was forced to look up when she cast a shadow over his page. ‘Claire?’ she didn’t speak, suspicions confirmed, only climbed onto the hammock, her body fitting to his. The hammock swayed, unsettled at the extra weight, not completely put off. 

Suddenly, she was exhausted, the days wearing down on her, the dinosaurs fending off for a moment by the man who accompanied her through the jungle in search of her nephews. ’You still smell like gasoline.’ She mumbled, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. 

Owen Grady stared at the red head against his chest, her hand over his heart, her legs slotted between his.

He had scrubbed his skin raw in the shower trying to get rid of the smell, the slick feeling off his skin. It was up his nose, against his fingers, the feeling, the smell, it wouldn’t go away. The sound of the Indominus roared in his ears, the ground still shaking beneath him. It wasn’t going away. ’Sorry,’ he mumbled back, stunned at the woman laying across him. His arms were in the air, book held between three fingers, unsure if he was allowed to touch her or not. 

Claire hummed, a low sound in the back of her throat that vibrated against his ribs. She nuzzled her nose into his chest softly, ‘hm, no,’ she sighed, her chest pressing against his. ‘It’s alright.’ Her hips wiggled, shifting for an excruciating second before she settled, snuggled a little closer, her head a little more the the left, allowing him to see her face. She had closed her blue eyes, eye lashes kissing her freckled cheeks. 

Owen held his breath. Since getting back from Isla Nublar, they barely spoke, the both of them whisked away in completely different directions. He wanted to seek her out, he just didn’t know where he stood, where _they_ stood after the island. It had taken him two months to ask her out the first time, near death experiences weren’t an experiment in dating finesse nor an abundance in confidence once the adrenaline wore off. 

They had, however, survived a highly unlikely - harder to survive - situation. He could work up the courage, just this once, for a do over. He had it, right there, sitting on his lips, the words on his tongue. 

She was asleep, when he turned to her, her breathing even, her face relaxed. A small handheld a fistful of his shirt, gently, between her fingers. Owen sighed, her head moving with his chest, unflinching. 

He lowered his arms, one settling over her hip, while the other propped his book against her ribs. She was make-up free, sleeping against his chest, the bags under her eyes heavy and grey. Owen would let her sleep as undisturbed as he could possibly make it. His question could wait. 

With one foot over hanging the hammock, Owen used it to set them in motion, gently swaying in the warm air, rocking in tandem with the ocean’s crashing waves. His hand rubbing soothing circles against her hip. 

The juxtaposition between then and now, Isla Nublar and Costa Rica, _Mr Grady_ and _Senior Assets Manager, Claire Dearing_ had shifted. Then still existed, it created it’s impact on their lives, but now there was a new course, one away from the island, new jobs and new prospects. He had witnessed Claire change between speaking to her the morning of the incident and promising survival the morning after. She would not go back to that island, to Masrani’s prospects, especially since Simon’s death. Whatever she chose, whatever path delivered her from Costa Rica, Owen only hoped he had a part in it.

He settled for rocking her, listening to her soft breathing as he turns the pages of the book. Only waking her when her pale skin starts to pink under the sun, threatening burns if he kept her out there any longer. 


	75. #75 - Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soifyoudaretofindme: ‘so like, i know we broke up and stuff but funny story, i haven’t told my family yet and they just assumed you’d be coming with me for [insert family celebration] and i really don’t know how to tell them and i know this is really selfish but i can’t break my great grandma’s heart like that, she’ll probably have a heart attack and - wait what? you’d do that for me? holy shit, i love you … wait -‘ AU
> 
> FROM THIS POST: http://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/138778708399/post-breakup-aus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They all don’t have to end bad. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t.

She hesitated when Gray asked the question, Karen and Zach watching her face to judge her response. ‘Ah, yeah, sure.’ Claire answered easily, smiling into her webcam as she panicked internally. Apparently she had forgotten to share the state of her relationship with Owen Grady with the rest of her family. 

Last they heard Owen was crashing on her couch. Which, he was, until several months ago. There was no relationship between the two. He kissed her on Isla Nublar, he suggested survival. After the media storm slowed down, after Masrani Global’s legal battle evened out. The fire between them faltered. With no hullabaloo surrounding them, amping up the air they breathed, Owen and Claire fell flat. 

As soon as they were relinquished from a semi house arrest in Costa Rica, they parted ways. She evidently forgot to share that with her sister and nephews. Gray had excitedly asked after Owen, curious to know if the man would attend his 13th birthday party. She agreed without second thought. It would be easier to call Owen, than explain, over Skype, that her family was misinformed. 

Instead, she swallowed a lie. Easily telling Gray that she would check Owen’s availability, as well as their ability to get to Madison for his birthday. The glee on his face was enough to guilt Claire even further. She couldn’t lie when she arrived, tell the boy that Owen was busy when she hadn’t even bothered to reach out and contact him. So, she did. 

Tracking down Owen was significantly easier than Claire had thought. It helped that his number in her phone was still his and that he was eager to accept an invitation to lunch. Added bonus, he had migrated to San Diego just as Claire had. 

She had to remind herself that it was just lunch, as her hands fidgeted. It was just lunch with Owen, in a cafe around the corner from her office. They’d managed to do this before, early morning, after jog breakfast, while he slept on her couch. _Their_ couch. The Costa Rican apartment was split between the two of them. He claimed it as easy living, and comfort … _for the nightmares_.

Claire half felt his presence before he noticed him waltzing towards her, large grin on his face. He looked like a puppy, or an excited school boy, she couldn’t pick which she preferred as she stood to great him. Owen wrapped large arms around her waist, squeezing her tightly, her feet almost lifting off the ground. She squeaked a little, until he kissed her on the cheek and set her down. 

Owen talked. Something she never really noticed about him. He usually kept to himself on the island, unless he was bothering her, or training the Raptors. Living together in the aftermath of a traumatic event caught them in a state of silence. They shared take-out on his makeshift bed before parting ways for the night, both of them wishing that the other was brave enough to make the first move. It had been a little over six month since they relocated back to American soil, restarted their lives. He had a lot to talk about in order to fill a six month gap, and also not a lot. 

He told her how beautiful she looked on a sigh, a little more than five times in twenty minutes, thanking the waiter for his food as he abandoned it to study her. ‘So, what changed? What made you call me out of the blue?’ She could suddenly feel every freckle on her face, every imperfection, every extra inch her hair had grown as he watched her with intense green eyes. 

Claire blushed, ‘Well, it’s kind of a funny story. In short: it’s Gray’s birthday next week’. Owen grinned, another ear splitting, teeth flashing grin. Something in her gut quivered. ‘The boys and, ah, Karen - well, they seem to think that we’re still together - living … together.’ 

Owen couldn’t help the chuckle, as he watched her pick at the fries on her plate. ‘Claire, that was six months ago.’ 

She shrugged, mumbling some half formulated excuse about it never coming up, and completely slipping her mind. ‘You should have seen Gray’s face, Owen, he is so excited to see you again.’ 

‘Sure,’ He told her as he selflessly stole a fry from her plate. Claire blinked. ‘I’ll come to Gray’s party.’ 

‘It’s in Madison.’ She told him bluntly, caught between hope and dread, as she begged the travel to be the end of the line for Owen. 

Owen shrugged again, ‘Why not? I have some leave. Maybe we can make a weekend out of it?’

She blinked at him again, half stunned, and a little in wonder that he agreed before she had the chance to ask. ‘I, ah - really, you’ll come?’ Owen nodded around a mouth full of food. He liked her nephews, they were good kids, and nothing quite settled a bond more than escaping from the clutches of a dinosaur together. Even though they had parted ways, Owen still worried about her. Claire’s nephews too. Just because they made it out alive didn’t mean they made it out in one piece. Owen wanted to see, with his own eyes, how they were all doing. 

She watched him while he ate. Which, Claire realised was odd. She didn’t have time earlier, not when he was scrutinising her so closely, catching every detail twice. He looked good, his South American tan had faded, adjusting slightly to a softer climate. He was still lean and strong, heavy indicators in an active job and gym life. Claire was glad for that, worried that with the closure of Jurassic World Owen would struggle to find work that met his needs. He’d grown accustom to working as he pleased under the warm sun, actively, training his Velociraptors to a strict plan. That sort of work didn’t exist in the every day in San Diego. 

His eyes still crinkled when he smiled, slight dimple appearing in his cheek. He still seemed to wow her in size. Owen had always been a God, a somewhat desirable specimen in the light of Adonis. He never failed to remind her, just on sight, that no one would live up to him. _Someone had to_ , Claire had once admonished, Owen never made his move. 

How she wished he’d just made the slightest suggestion. Masrani Global and InGen drowned them in legal paperwork and appeals, throwing them in front of panels and board members. By the time they slumped back to their tiny shared apartment, they were exhausted. There was energy to revisit their hasty kiss in the middle of Main Street, no time to explore it, lengthen it, and redefine it. 

Once the legalities settled, their worlds a small semblance of normal, Owen became too polite, and Claire worried that it would never work. She adored Owen. For everything he did. For what she had discovered in him concerning human nature. She was willing and able to explore everything he had to offer, but she needed him to make the first move. 

Instead, he moved out. 

Claire heard something in her chest snap that day as she smiled wilfully and watched him drive away. There was no use making him stay, not if he didn’t want to be there, not after things were starting to grow uncomfortable between them. ‘I really wish you would have kissed me after the incident.’ Claire accidentally whispered, caught in her own thoughts. 

Owen’s grin was small, slyly crawling across his face as it grew, eyebrows knitted in slight confusion. He chuckled a little at her easy blush, biting back the retort on his lips at the sight of her embarrassment. He flashed her an all-knowing wink, unable to contain his humour. 

He leant forward, food forgotten, elbows on the table. ‘Would you like to go to dinner with me?’ Owen asked, his tone caught in interest. ‘You know, before Gray’s birthday … we could reunite.’ Claire held her breath, knowing there was more. ‘I could maybe kiss you goodnight?’ 

He caught a flash in her eye, something shimmering as Claire bit down on her bottom lip. ‘How about tonight?’ 


	76. #76 - Remember her Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen surprises Claire for her birthday (post incident)
> 
> &
> 
> ANON: Claire’s birthday post incident - she completely forgets about it but Owen remembers.

 

They didn’t always have good days. Sometimes he drove her insane to the point where Claire wondered if she’d made the right decision. Days were she thought survival wasn’t as important as he made it out to be, not with him at least. Then there were days, marvellous little things, full of colour and bright laughter. Mornings and nights, as well as brief afternoons where he would kiss her so deep she forgot how to breathe. Mornings where he would smile in fresh daylight, so intoxicating she wanted to freeze time right there. Nights where he would fall asleep, head in her lap, or hers on his shoulder the both of them warm, content, happy. 

And then there were afternoons where he surprised her completely. She returned from work, a little world weary as Claire kicked off her shoes and headed for the bedroom, skirt zipper already released. A box sat on the bed, only a few inches thick and wrapped in a red ribbon.

She pulled at the ribbon curiously smile tugging at her lips as the ribbon fell away. Claire lifted the lid, revealing a small note sat atop black tissue paper. 

_Honey,  
I’ll see you at Mister A’s. 7:30pm._

_Owen._

The note was simple, scrolled out in his handwriting. Claire gelt the grin bite at her cheeks, warmth filling her chest. Owen always managed to surprise her with romantic tendencies, sweeping Claire off her feet when she least expected it. 

Claire peeled back the tissue paper, marvelling at the deep maroon off shoulder bodice that sat before her. She pulled the dress out gently, completely in awe of the a-line cut. It was almost cocktail in it’s length, likely to sit just against her knees. Claire grinned, biting her cheek, overcome with her admiration for Owen. He was going above and beyond tonight, unprompted, for her. 

She had stared after this restaurant since they relocated to San Diego. It had been, in the beginning, a little _too_ upmarket for Owen’s taste. He promised her, one day, one night, he’d take her for dinner, where they could sit on the balcony and take in panoramic views of their city. 

It felt like she was the romantic lead in a movie, heels clacking against the sidewalk as she looked for Owen on the street, dressed to the nines. His voice called out to her from behind, making Claire stop and turn. Her dress flew around her knees, bobbing softly as she caught sight of him. 

For once, Owen was dressed appropriately for a formal occasion, in clothes she didn’t know he owned. He had gone above and beyond, just for her, in a relaxed tux. ’You look beautiful,’ He sighed, breath caught in his throat once he approached her. Claire grinned, twirling in her dress like the young girl she could feel pounding in her chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist, walking with her towards the restaurant as he kissed her cheek.

‘What’s all the fuss for? Buying me a dress? _Mister A’s_?’ She asked, leaning into him as Owen held the door open for her. 

His smile was blissful, a little funny as he watched her curious face. ‘Did you forget?’ His glee was so large it had left the planet. Claire’s brows crinkles as a waiter led them to their table. He could see the cogs turning in her head, trying to remember any significant date in their sixteen months since the incident. 

Owen watched her, watch the views, the expanse of Balboa park reaching out before them, the city rising and falling in waves. Owen kissed her cheek, following Claire to their table only a few steps away, and held out her chair. ‘Happy Birthday,’ He whispered, second kiss dropped to her cheek as she sat, Owen tucking her chair in for her. 

Claire stared at him in disbelief, unable to accept that she had forgotten her birthday. Owen only chuckled, flashing the date at her on his phone, before she settled into a mildly confused sigh. 

Claire was convinced that he could get down on one knee that night and propose to her. She wouldn’t object, wouldn’t whisper that they weren’t ready. Instead, she would slip to her knees and kiss his face, mumbling a yes. 

Owen had lulled her in a perfect dream. Treating her to the glamours life as the sun set against the city around them. When they finished their meal, he paid without a word, her arm tucked around his, as he led her towards Balboa Park. 

‘I can’t believe I forgot,’ Claire hummed, leaning against Owen’s arm as they walked under the park lights. It was partially a lie. Claire had been so busy of course she forgot. She barely managed to remember to eat during the day, let alone that her birthday was coming up. ‘Thank you for remembering,’ Owen leant down instinctively to greet her thanks with a kiss. Claire could only imagine the low belly dread that would have come in a few days if both had forgotten. Owen would have felt terrible. But, he was amazing in the way that he never forgot those small, important details. 

They must have looked so glamours, kissing in the park, Claire in her maroon dress, Owen in his tux. He had dipped her a little, under the lamp light, kissing her deeper for the moment more than anything else. 

‘Take me home,’ She whispered into the night, one finale kiss pressed to his lips. They walked through the park, admiring the gentle quiet as Owen led them back to his car in the zoo employee lot. Owen did as he asked; he took her home. 

As he watched Claire climb the stairs, giggle slipping from her lips as her dress bounced with every step. Owen thanked his lucky stars for her. Thanked everything under the sun that he was the one to take her home, that he had her birthday to remember, and her smile to greet him. 

‘Are you coming?’ Claire called down to him, her form no longer in the stairwell, her giggle still present. Owen didn’t hesitate, he moved for the stairs, seeking out the colour of her dress. He could stand there and worship her in thought, or in body. Owen much preferred the latter. 


	77. #77 - Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: Owen finds out that Claire got a V-Day gift/flowers from a secret admirer (not him), and goes out of his way to make this day the most memorable to prove he’s the only admirer she’ll ever need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is up later than I expected. Sorry. 
> 
> So many of you have expressed an interest in this prompt and I really hope it lives up to the hype. I tried, but I’m stressed.

 

He had run himself ragged on pure determination. Owen couldn’t stand by when someone else sent _his_ girlfriend flowers for Valentine’s Day. He hadn’t done anything, nothing was organised, no gifts were wrapped in unnecessarily themed paper, and pink bows. Claire had very clearly stated in early January she didn’t want to do anything for Valentine’s Day. Owen, without fight, complied. 

He thought his job was done. He thought all the day would entail was phone ordered pizza, and going to _bed_ early. It was enough for the two of them. Neither needed over the top demonstrations of love, or plush animals holding love hearts. At the most, he splurged on heart shaped chocolates, but that was only because he shopped while hungry. 

Owen had laid a gentle assault against her cheeks that morning, playfully pecking her face with kisses as she roused. She whispered a quiet _‘I love you’_ before slipping back into his embrace. Their morning routine went undisrupted, the two of them leaving for work separately, blissful smiles on their faces. 

It felt like a freight train crashed right into his ear when Claire called around eleven, whispering a loving ‘ _thank you’_ into the receiver, slight giggle on her lips. He was derailed by her childlike joy, as he always was when Claire Dearing managed a giggle, before he was overcome with confusion.

‘ _For what?’_ He had asked on a laugh, dirty hand scratching at the back of his neck. She was bashful in his ear, clearly leaning back in her chair, admiring something he had supposedly done. Something that, by the sounds of it, had made her incredibly happy. 

Flowers. Someone had delivered flowers to her office. _Beautiful_ flowers, and ‘ _Oh, Owen you shouldn’t have’._ He didn’t. Owen thought for a minute that he might have forgotten, planned ahead so it wouldn’t skip his mind. He would have remembered ordering flowers and he certainly would not have signed it with ‘ _your secret admirer’_. Owen felt his blood bubble. If it wasn’t him, it was someone else and he knew exactly how he felt about _that_. 

He lied on the phone, through mild panic, humming something about how glad he was that she liked the flowers. Claire was none the wiser which Owen assumed was a good thing, at least whomever was trying to get to her, wasn’t succeeding. 

Owen Grady wasn’t one for being outdone. That particularly competitive trait came from being an Alpha, and the oldest of three children, and maybe the military if he really wanted to point fingers. Either or, his plans for pizza and lazy lovemaking was suddenly out of the picture. Some _slime-ball_ in her office - Owen at least hoped he was from her office, and not their local Starbucks - had one upped him, on Valentine’s Day. It was only eleven. 

He vibrated on the spot for a moment, adrenaline jumping through his veins as he panicked, unsure as to what move should be his first. He couldn’t send her flowers, not now, not after she thought the ones in her possession were already from him. 

Owen called Claire’s assistant on a whim. ‘The flowers weren’t from you, were they?’ Mae had answered immediately, aware that her boss had just been on the phone with Owen. He caved, making a disgruntled noise before asking after the flowers. ‘They’re beautiful. Claire’s smitten, but _you_ could have done better.’ Owen knew he liked Mae for a reason. The young woman took his side on occasion. ‘I’m not helping you plan a last minute Valentine’s date,’ She told him with a laugh, letting Owen down the second he built his hopes up. 

Mae had parted with sarcastic words of luck. Owen was quintessentially doomed. Nowhere had tables free, and if he wanted flowers, well he could have the slim pickings - if he was in the mood to fight someone else for them. Florists and maître d’’s laughed in his ear as Owen felt his blood pressure sky rocket and his short list of ideas come to an end.

He left work early, barely an explanation handed down to the staffers he passed as Owen rushed for his car, some semblance of a plan forming in his mind. He focused on Claire. Zeroing in on the little things she loved, the things that blew him out of the water when he first discovered them. She loved their little back garden, and faerie lights in the winter. She loved his cooking, even when she said it didn’t meet the requirements of her latest _diet -_ and his sticky deserts were always gone before he could so much as call them leftovers. She loved how being with him was as easy as breathing, even on the days when it wasn’t. 

Owen shopped on a scattered brain, scouring shelves and produce markets for salmon and chutney, for green beans and potatoes, for extra faerie lights and leftover flowers. Owen gathered his pickings and returned home, eye on the clock as time ticked on. He nearly killed himself on more than one occasion as he tired to hang lights in the trees, on an unsteady ladder. He borrowed Claire’s candles from the bathroom, setting them up in the grass with a hope they wouldn’t set the lawn alight. He dragged the garden table to the centre of their small space, a chair on either side. 

He was exhausted, sweat worked up along his brow, breathing uneven with the exertion. Arms crossed over his chest, Owen admired his handiwork before changing his focus on tasks. 

He had showered and changed into something a little more formal by the time Claire stepped through the door, her heels announcing her entrance as he finalised the food on their plates. ‘Owen,’ Claire’s voice reached for him curiously, her bag clunked against a barstool as she sat it down, a second item rustling as she placed it on the bench. Her flowers, alive with pink, red and white. ‘What have you been up to?’ She asked, eyeing him with humoured suspicion. 

She could smell the food the second she stepped foot inside their home, knowing already that Owen was up to something a little more spectacular than regular dinner. He kissed her cheek delicately as he passed, a hand each holding onto their plates as he led Claire out into the yard. 

Her breathless _‘oh’_ was all Owen wanted. Every ounce of adrenaline made up for this moment. Setting their dinner down, he turned to her with a large smile, chest puffed in pride. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to do anything, but, _I_ had to do something.’ He half lied. Sure, the day had started out with no real intention, but as he realised someone else thought enough of her to buy flowers, Owen knew he _had_ to do something. She mightn’t have wanted anything lavish or spectacular, but he could still cook dinner and create a romantic setting. 

‘You didn’t have to do all this,’ She sighed, caught on whimsy, head titled back to admire the faerie lights above her head. 

Owen shrugged, hum reverberating in his chest as he watched her, soaking in every detail he could in the setting sun. ‘Sure I did.’ He entwined his fingers with hers, staring up at his handiwork beside her. ‘I don’t need Valentine’s Day to prove to you how much I care about you, or to show you how much you mean to me. Because, I love you and I’d like to think I show it enough.’ Claire squeezed his hand, taking her eyes away from their pergola full of lights and the lit trees to kiss him on the cheek. ‘But, you deserve to feel special, especially when everyone else is being treated that way. I’d hate to think that one day you found someone who wanted to treat you like a queen on Valentine’s Day, as well. It would kill me. You’re it for me. Everything I need. You’re the only secret admirer, and lovelorn valentine I could ever ask for. I hope I’m the same for you.’ 

Her gentle kiss on his lips, the slip of her arms around his neck and her warm familiar body pressed to his was all the affirmation Owen needed. The flowers sitting on their kitchen bench were long forgotten, Claire still blissfully unaware of their sender. He would tell her about that in the morning, after he had loved her five ways into oblivion, etching himself into her bones for the rest of eternity. 


	78. #78 - Secret Admirer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen asks Claire out on a second date on Valentine’s Day and goes all out to impress her! (Bonus if he’s super nervous and she tells him there’s nothing to worry about!)
> 
> and
> 
> @cali-forniacationn: Claire receives a bunch of gifts throughout Valentine’s Day and at the end of the day she finds Owen at her apartment with dinner he prepared himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a solid idea ... I don’t know what happened. I hope this is still all right. 
> 
> I squished both prompts together, I hope that’s okay, and altered the second one a bit.

 

Claire didn’t suspect a thing. She didn’t even recognise the symbolism for a momentary second. It had completely slipped her mind, that it was February 14th - Valentine’s Day. Which explained the small bag of heart shaped chocolates and envelope sitting in her desk drawer. Claire frowned at it, almost as though her displeasure would make it disappear. The chocolates remained, however, and the small envelope called to her as the curious voice in her head. 

She barely had a second to pull the items out of her desk, before Zara was knocking on her door, allowing a courier to step into her office. Claire only stared at the man, bouquet of flowers in his hand. The collection was alive with yellow and green, spattering of white and pink catching her eye as Claire let confusion was over her. 

The courier was useless in regards to information. He placed the flowers on her desk and promised, ‘ _I’m just the courier, Ma’am, I only deliver the flowers’_ when she asked who they were from. He left without explanation, leaving Claire to brush gentle fingers over yellow petals, their tips dipped in red.

‘Look’s like you’ve got an admirer,’ Zara mused, tapping the card pinned to a bunch of eucalyptus leaves. Claire rolled her eyes, ‘Well, it is the season’. Claire’s assistant shrugged, leaving her boss to piece together the clues. 

The note on her flowers simply read, ‘ _Be my Valentine’_ in handwriting Claire Dearing did not recognise. She couldn’t help the slight skip of her heart or the warmth on her cheeks. She should have pushed the flowers aside, ignored them and the admirer they were from on the pretence that she didn’t need a valentine, let alone an unknown one. She admired the flowers one last time, before moving them away from her desk. 

Claire ignored every hint of her admirer until lunch when Zara stood impatiently in the doorway. ‘You have another delivery,’ The woman announced, hands behind her back. Claire pushed away from her desk, eyeing her assistant suspiciously as Zara stepped forward. 

As far as her sudden secret admirer went, Claire didn’t know what to expect, and thus her finger was nowhere near the pulse of a possible suitor. When Zara pulled a plush Velociraptor out from behind her back, a rose sewn across its claws Claire knew instantly. Owen. ’Now, before you get mad - he’s trying so hard,’ Zara cut in before the flare in Claire’s eyes could vocalise itself. 

‘You knew about this?’ She blinked at her assistant as Zara handed over the plush dinosaur. 

Zara shrugged, ‘Well, obviously someone had to tel him in here. There are chocolates and notes hidden just about everywhere. It’s kind of cute really. He really, _really,_ likes you.’ Claire rolled her eyes as Zara grinned, commenting on how endearing it was to watch him bounce around Claire’s office, hiding things in drawers and cupboards. ‘There’s a note in your drawer about meeting him for dinner - but, if he calls me one more time to ask if you liked the flowers, I might scream. You should go see him.’ 

She preened the edges of her hair, fingers brushing the sharp ends self-consciously. ‘Why would I do that?’ 

Zara grinned, arms crossed over her chest, ‘For the same reason that you secretly love all of this. You like him too.’ 

Claire shook her head, ‘No, no way. Our date went horribly.’ 

‘Give him another chance, he’s asking, practically begging. But, he wants it to be your choice, Claire. Just,’ Zara shrugged, ‘I don’t know, surprise him’. Against her better judgement Claire listened to her assistant’s words. 

Their first date was a tragic mess between push and pull, personalities clashing in every way possible. Despite how disappointing the whole thing was, Claire still felt a pull towards Owen Grady. Which was why she found herself stepping across loose gravel, squinting at the expanse of the Velociraptor paddock, trying to spot Owen amongst his staff. 

‘Claire?’ His voice found her before she spotted him, slightly befuddled. ‘Hey, ah, what are you - why are you here?’ He stumbled around his words, hand on the back of his neck. Blinking up at him, the sun in her eyes, Claire couldn’t help the overconfident smirk that formed across her lips. When Owen stepped in front of her, blocking the sun, Claire faltered, something in her chest jumping. 

‘I just wanted to tell my secret admirer that my assistant can’t keep a secret.’ He froze for a second, panic stretched across his warm features before he broke out into a laugh. ‘Cat’s outta the bag,’ Claire told him softly, chuckling alongside him. 

‘You know, ah, this wasn’t apart of me wooing you - you’re supposed to stay at HQ’. 

Claire nodded, ‘I know. I just wanted to tell you to stop worrying, and stop bugging Zara with your worry. I’ll be there tonight.’ He gaped at her, mouth open, eye blinking as he whispered a quiet _‘really?’_ She nodded softly, slight hum slipping from her mouth. Claire bit her lip, head turning to check who was around them. Pressed up on her toes, Claire dropped a kiss to his cheek, uttering an acceptance as his valentine before turning and walking away.

When he saw her next she was dressed in black, hair pulled up elegantly, smile tickling her lips as she caught sight of him, ferry side, dressed in a suit. She was thankful in that moment that he decided to woo her again, that something in his chest, in his head ticked towards the importance of this night. He looked wonderful, exactly as she had hoped for their first date. 

He extended a rose, kissing her cheek in greeting. Owen sighed on her beauty, taking her hand easily as he led her toward the ferry. He was taking her off island, reservations made a fair distance away from their first nightmare of a date. He was persistent that things would go well. Claire couldn’t help but agree, already knowing they were off to a far better start, his hand warm in hers, engulfing her slight fingers as he squeezed them in reassurance. 

‘Ready?’ He asked, looking over his shoulder Claire a step behind as they climbed the ferry’s stairs. She nodded easily, making a quip about him being her secret admirer and diving right in. There was no worry on Claire’s behalf. Where she would usually require, if not demand, and itinerary to ensure they made it back in time for the last ferry, she felt relaxed in his presence now. She was ready to dive right in. He took a risk, sending her gifts for Valentine’s Day. Claire could risk a night out without a strict set of plans. 

Claire could give him one night to rectify himself. An entire evening to prove quietly that they would work together, or they went their seperate ways amicably. And if not, if he managed to show her what she already knew to be true, then Claire would willingly let him take her home where she could pull him by the lapels into her apartment. 


	79. #79 - Charlie, Elliot, and the Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire takes care of little Charlie and Elliot (maybe 9 and 3 years old?) when they are stuck at home with the stomach flu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I struggle to write a thousand words for Valentine's Day prompts, yet, effortlessly mumble out close to 2k for Charlie and Elliot. I hate my brain.

Her daughters were indestructible, unless they were taken down by a common stomach flu. Which was how Claire found herself curled up in her bed, daughter on each side. Owen gloated on those occasions, bursting at the seams at the wonderment that came with small children to cuddle. Claire only rolled her eyes, it was always a ploy in plea for another baby.

There was something in sniffles and tummy aches, in _‘Mommy I feel funny’_ and ‘ _Can you read to me?’_ that helped Claire easy into a sick day off with her drowsy daughters. She loved them for their bright and sometimes loud personalities. Charlie’s outgoing nature, and Elliot’s love to dance on and around everything. Although she wanted nothing more to encourage and nurture who they were. Claire secretly loved them the most whilst they were quiet. It was the days where she could read them the adventures of Jo, Bessie, Fanny and the Faraway Tree, that Claire treasured most. 

Elliot lay with her head on her mother’s chest, thumb in her mouth, eyes undoubtedly closed. The toddler was running hot, spiking Claire’s temperature alongside her. She read quietly, stroking back Elliot’s blonde curls. ‘Even if Mr Whiskers said _“It’s so very dangerous!”_ I would still climb up the Faraway Tree.’ Charlie interrupted quietly, commenting on the content of the book her mother was reading. The girl had heard the story a countless amount of times across her small expanse of youth. The book, one of Claire’s favourites, was a go-to read and a small comfort when her children were running fevers and belly aches. 

Claire hummed, turning her attentions to Charlie, hand switching from blonde curls to red. It was so very _Charlie_ to defy authority, even if it involved magic trees and brownies. No matter the danger, that little girl would do anything if given the chance. 

‘’Cause it could be the day where the world at the top doesn’t get sick. And there would be no yucky tummies or scratchy coughs. That would be a nice world - not dangerous at all. I would stay forever.’ The girl was miserable, head buried against Claire’s shoulder, her little hand holding a fistful of her mother’s shirt. 

Charlie disliked school as much as the next seven-year-old. Days off were like heaven delivered in sleep ins, watching TV and getting to run a muck in the yard; when she was well enough to do so. On most occasions, where she pulled a fake illness, she was carted to the zoo - which she enjoyed _too_ much - or had to accompany her mother to the office. A punishment worth fake illnesses. As much as she liked a day off, Charlie loathed them when she was genuinely ill. 

‘Would you come back? From the top of the tree?’ Claire asked, pressing a kiss to each daughter’s head. With only a grumble in response from Elliot, she knew the girl had drifted off. 

Charlie hummed, ‘Maybe. You know, sometimes the worlds don’t come back for a long while. Maybe I’ll never come back, even if I want too. That’ll be sad. Daddy will miss me. Maybe I won’t go.’ Leave it to Owen to be the deciding factor in Charlie’s runaway plans.

‘Good thinking,’ Claire concurred. 

‘But, I’m still going to Indonesia.’ She told Claire, matter of fact, no doubt about it. Every intention in her mind settled, even at seven. 

‘Oh, of course!’ Her mother agreed, no matter how much it unsettled her to think of her tiny daughter jet setting across the world on her own animal crusade. Her father had relocated to Central America for dinosaurs, Charlie was sure to do something similar for tigers. They were glad that she had ambition, they just hoped her path trajectory would land a little closer to home, a little more known than unknown. Claire was convinced it was a phase she would outgrow. Owen wasn’t too sure. 

She returned to reading, passing through another few chapters, her daughters dozing beside her. Claire’s eyelids themselves, felt heavy, the book closing against her fingers softly, as she too turned to the land of shut eye, the tales of the three children caught in her head. 

When Claire woke she was reminded of the reason why she had fallen back asleep on a Tuesday morning. Her daughters were restless beside her, their cheeks unnaturally pink, their faces contorted in discomfort. Elliot woke the second Claire trailed a hand down her little back, the toddler startling at the touch, and then again at her waking with a fright. Claire soothed her in a second, easing the little girl who wasn’t feeling well. 

With a little effort she relocated both girls to the living room, setting them up in their duvets on the couch, covered in pillows, a plush animal each, tucked under their arms. A DVD was inserted into Owen’s Xbox and each child was dosed with medicine before Claire walked away. 

Elliot sought her out not twenty minutes later, chicken noodle soup brewing on the stove. Tears clung to her little face, cheeks still shiny and pink as she rubbed at her eyes and whimpered for Claire. She didn’t hesitate to collect the girl, lifting the three-year-old up into her arms and cuddling her close. Claire rocked her daughter, the action second nature as she stroked Elliot’s hair and promised she would feel better soon. 

‘Do you want to go back to the living room and watch Tangled with your sister?’ Claire asked, encouraging a smile from the little girl who refused to do anything but frown. 

Elliot shook her head. ‘Read, please?’ She asked in as few words as possible, little fingers playing with the necklace around her mother’s neck. Elliot was always after the simpler things in life. Dance. Her mother reading. Quiet time with either, or both parents. Although she took a different route as her boisterous and active sister, she was just as demanding. ‘Please?’ She pouted, wide eyes grey as she pleaded. 

‘Not until Daddy gets home, little miss.’ The little girl grumbled, lines appearing in her forehead as Claire set her down on a barstool, promising Elliot that she could help with cooking their soup. She wiggled off the chair, clinging to Claire’s legs before growing tired of it and returning to the living room. 

It was always odd having sick children. Where their home was full of life, it fell quiet, caught in coughs and groans and sad little voices calling out for mom or dad. When Owen stepped through the door, for the first time since Charlie stopped taking naps Claire heard him come home. He was home early too, just after lunch. More or less because the girls were sick, he’d swung himself a half day off. She heard him toe his shoes off before his voice became a faint rumble from the living room. Twenty minutes later, Owen showed his face in the kitchen, Elliot on his hip, her head on his shoulder. 

‘What is that?’ Claire asked with alarm, pointing at the pacifier in her daughter’s mouth. Owen was sheepish immediately, apologetic look rushing across his features. They’d spent the last three weeks trying to wean Elliot of a pacifier. Three weeks of her suddenly demanding it at random intervals, of listening to her cry down the hall or in their bed. She got a new doll in exchange for it. And now she had one in her mouth. ‘Where did it even come from?’ 

Owen shrugged, ‘She asked, I had spares’. Elliot giggled, actually giggled against her father’s shoulders, the corners of her mouth sliding past the plastic of her pacifier. Claire was mortified. ‘I swear, it won’t happen again. I’ll throw ‘em out. You know I don’t like it when they’re sick.’ He was as soft as a marshmallow for his girls. All three of them. He turned to goo each time they were injured or unwell, completely bowing under the pressure of their sad eyes and small pouts. Knowing they were suffering from a slight cold, bug, or just because they were upset was enough for Owen to fetch them the moon. 

Claire nodded in agreement, look on her face telling him they would talk about it later. _She_ would talk about it, he would listen, and _he_ would be the one getting up to quieten Elliot in the night. Owen kissed his wife’s cheek in apology, back of his hand pressing against her forehead as he pulled away. 

‘You feeling all right?’ He asked. A whole day with disease infected children guaranteed someone else was going to catch it. Claire was the last in the household to fall ill, very rarely did she catch whatever the girls brought home from school, or Owen from the zoo. She was their trooper, their nurse, their invincible person. This however, was going to try to knock her down. 

She smiled softly, leaning into his touch a little as she nodded. ‘I’m just a little warm is all,’ She agreed, refusing to meet the concern on her face. 

‘Mommy?’ Elliot started, ‘Can we read now?’ Her words were choppy, half filled around the pacifier between her teeth. Claire sighed, building her rebuttal before Owen handed the toddler over. 

He clapped his hands together. ‘Good idea! Why don’t you join the girls on the couch. I’ll finish this and get you all another round of tylenol.’ He suggested while Claire shook her head, the girls didn’t need any more. Just food. ‘Okay then, and what are we reading this evening, Miss Ellie?’ He tapped his daughter’s cheek. Claire removed the pacifier from Elliot’s mouth so she could answer, the girl grumbled at her like an irritated dog. That was part of the reason she needed to lose the pacifier. 

‘Faraway Tree!’ She squeaked, missing the ‘w’ in the title. 

Owen beamed, kiss dropped to the toddler’s cheek. He ushered them back toward the living room, the movie halfway through before he sat them down, tucking them both in with a blanket and promised to go fetch the book for when the movie was finished. 

Claire insisted she could handle the rest of the soup. The dishes in the sink already staking up in her mind, as Owen promised, eyes on her rosy cheeks that he could look after them, provide for his family, or whatever other manly attributes he felt it necessary to prove. Claire only rolled her eyes and let him take over from there. 


	80. #80 - Charlie and the Benefactor Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the annual benefactor ball at the San Diego zoo. Charlie, five-years-old, gets her own special moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I've wanted/have been working on since Charlie and Tango (#36). I'm still not happy with it, but it was the only thing I managed to work on all week. 
> 
> (Psst. We've made it to 80 prompts ... and I'm only, just now, starting to loose motivation).

The zoo was set alight in black tie. Men in sharp suits and women in flashy dresses. Music played softly at the rotunda, where tables had been set up, under the moonlight, in anticipation of dinner. Fancy guests took strolls around the zoo. They partially listened to keepers and trainers who’d prepared speeches, or were willing to answer questions. 

And then there was Charlie, propped up on a small podium, so everyone could see her. She was dressed in the zoo’s cargo, her name printed on the breast pocket. ’This is Tango.’ The girl announced to the large group, hands gesturing towards the animal behind her. ‘His brothers Uniform, Victor, and their sister Sierra.’ She gave a brief synopsis, in her five-year-old way into the tigers that lived at her father’s zoo. The tigers she treasured more than life itself, the tigers shared not only a special bond but also a birthday.

Charlie grinned, one tooth missing, far and wide. Ascot made sure guests stopped to _listen_ to her. The little girl with an important job, handed to her by the Zoo’s owner, himself. She spoke loud and clear, talking with her hands like a small copy of her mother. Owen couldn’t help but chuckle, catching similarities between his daughter educating guests and her wife running a board room. Claire grinned beside him, one hand rubbing at the side of her slowly expanding belly, self conscious in her figure hugging dress. 

‘Tango and his siblings are four in less than five-hundred Sumatran Tigers left in the _whole_ world.’ Owen watched the faces of banquet guests. The people in attendance tonight were a mix between longtime supporters and one offs - with fat cheques. If Charlie could encourage them, through the exploitation of her adorable face, these people could be throwing money towards Sumatran rehabilitation research. 

‘Did I do good?’ Charlie asked, running for her father’s legs after the hoards of people moved on. She was still beaming as Owen picked her up and squeezed her tight. Charlie had every right to be outwardly proud of herself. She worked hard and tirelessly for her honourable presentation. They had been working in preparation for weeks, Charlie throwing more dedication into enunciation than what she had been doing for the alphabet. 

Owen kissed her cheeks, making the girl giggle. ‘You did wonderfully, Charlie-Bear’. She settled her head on his shoulder, looking towards her mother for similar affection. Claire dropped a kiss to Charlie’s nose, telling the girl, just as Owen had, that she was spectacular. 

‘I like being a grown - grown up,’ She stuttered with a large grin, proud of herself and a little in awe of the attention she was receiving. Not only were people in pretty dresses and nice suits smiling at her, calling her ‘young girl’ and ‘sweet thing’, the zoos staff were over the moon with pride. People she had known since she was a newborn, strapped and grizzling against her fathers chest, where swinging her around in the air, kissing her cheeks and squeezing her tight with their joy. 

‘All the makings of one of us,’ Alice had teased, holding the girls hand as she squeezed. Her missing front teeth were on display all afternoon and further into the night as the girl basked in the attention thrown at her. 

She politely, albeit, half on the edge of tantrum, turned down her mothers request to change out of the zoo cargo and into something a little more formal for the occasion. Despite the fact that Charlie had picked out the dress with her mother _and_ father, the girl did not want to wear it. She was happy to run around, weaving between the legs of investors, dressed like a zoo employee. 

Exhaustion found her in the lap of her father, her body dead weight in his arms as her mother draped a coat over her shoulders. ‘How’s our little zoo keep?’ Douglas Ascot asked as he approached Owen and Claire, grin on his face, hands clasped together. The zoo’s owner had been the one to request Charlie’s presence that night. As with everyone in employment there, he had known the girl since she was born - since Claire was pregnant and uncertain of the path ahead as Owen beamed with joy. Ascot, saw in Charlie, what many others did. Her love for the zoo, for the animals there greatly impacted upon their guest numbers. Patrons enjoying the family feel of the zoo with little Charlie running around among them, offering up free advice and answering questions at animal feeding times, on weekends.

‘The investors loved her, which should hopefully mean things are looking up this year for our resident tigers.’ He clapped Owen on his spare shoulder, beaming like the proud man he was, glad that a plan had worked successfully and that Charlie had dazzled like they knew she would. ‘I have something I wanted to go over with the two of you,’ The man grinned. ‘Charlie here has been an important part of our zoo, since day one.’ He wasn’t wrong. Since Charlie could walk - even still wobbly on her infant feet - she strolled around the zoo grounds entertaining guests and eventually, once the noises from her throat formed into words, enlightened them. 

Their family as a whole, always worked hard for the zoo. They strived for large numbers on specialist days, bringing in extra people during the holiday season, or just party crowds for Charlie’s birthday. Douglas couldn’t deny, since the girl was born, attendance had spiked. 

‘We’re aiming for a little more tonight,’ Douglas told them. ‘I want to do something for Charlie, _because_ of Charlie.’ Claire couldn’t deny that she liked the man. He reminded her of Simon Masrani and his friendly approach to his business. He was always warm and kind, and had his employees best interests at heart. He pulled a folio out from under his arm, something neither Claire nor Owen realised he was holding. The front page detailed a sketch of a small, modelled building. ‘The Charlie Grady Early Zoological Education Centre!’ Douglas beamed.

It was a renovation for the zoos nursery centre. The building was rarely used, but Douglas’ plan, if it worked was to make it a fully functioning education centre for children. Charlie thrived in the zoo environment when she was learning. She had that in common with their guests, some who frequented almost every weekend because their children were enthralled with the animals. Ascot’s idea was there to make zoo learning available and accessible to all their young guests, with a centre, and dedicated employees. 

‘… Alice is already onboard as team leader. She’s full of ideas for the kids and what we can do.’ The man was alive with excitement, explaining the idea to Claire who was all to familiar with business proposals.

Owen rose from his chair in a vain attempt to stretch out his muscles, Charlie’s deadweight in his arms holding him down. He watched Douglas and Claire, words slipping between their mouths, business and future, his daughter’s name on a building. ‘You want to do that, for Charlie?’ He asked, voice caught in disbelief, as the girl shifted against his shoulder. 

Douglas nodded, ‘An education hub where kids can get up close and personal with the animals, just as Charlie does everyday because of you. This is something I’ve wanted since before you came to this zoo, but I never had the means, the motivation, the proof that it would work. Charlie and her love for Tango, sealed the deal.’ Ascot shrugged, ‘Who knows, you pop out another budding zoologist and we’ll just have to change the name to ‘The Grady Family Zoo’. It was Claire who rolled her eyes, Owen grinning with excitement, with an idea he was all too in love with. 

‘I think it’s wonderful,’ Claire spoke, hand on Owen’s arm as she grinned at Ascot. ‘Giving children the opportunity to learn beyond peering into an enclosure.’ Charlie, age five, believed full well that she could communicate with each and every creature living in the San Diego Zoo. Logically she could. She chuffed with the tigers, tweeted with the birds, and grizzled with the bears. She was hands on, fingers and toes in the dirt, swimming with penguins, and teaching the seals new tricks. 

Charlie grumbled slightly, arm tightening around Owen’s neck as she rubbed at her eye. ‘We gotta say nigh’ to Tango,’ Her words were strung together, caught in mumbles on the plains of a sleepy realm.

‘The little one has spoken,’ Ascot laughed, nodding as Claire made a comment about heading for home. Gracious smiles on their faces, Claire tapped the folio thanking Ascot for the sentiment. ‘It’s not a done deal until I can rope a few investors in. It should be no problem - that little girl is magic, we can all see it.’ He bid them goodnight a second later, squeezing Owen’s arm and kissing Claire’s cheek as he rushed off, flagged down by another investor. 

They slipped away from the event quietly, Owen detouring past the tiger lock up. He jostled Charlie a little on purpose as they stepped through the door, warm air rushing out to the meet them. ‘We’re saying goodnight to Tango,’ Owen whispered as his daughter whimpered in the crook of his neck. He lowered her, crouching down beside the cage that housed the animals behind the enclosure. 

Charlie attempted a sleepy chuff, her tired fingers knocking against the metal bars. Tango, who was sitting by the bars where Owen was knocked his head against Charlie’s fingers. Letting out a heavy sigh, the tiger chuffed back. 

Her connection with the large animal never ceased to amaze Owen. He trained Velociraptor’s, and here was a tiger, affectionate with his five-year-old. ‘You’re so special, Charlie-Bear,’ He kissed her head. 

The girl grumbled, ‘No, I’m sleepy’. It was Claire who laughed behind him, her hand on Charlie’s head. The night had dwindled down to stars, the music soft, the food all gone. The animals had been put to bed, their lights turned out, and for the littlest zoo keeper, it was time for her to do the same. 


	81. #81 - Blind Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ness345: Zara or Barry playing match maker   
> and  
> ANON: what if their first date was actually a blind date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is OK

She tapped her foot anxiously against the tile flooring, scouring the room as the hostess scanned the books for her reservation. Claire was already ticking across her fingers the ways in which she would make Zara pay if the man didn’t show up tonight. 

A blind date. Of all things, her assistant sets her up on a blind date. Claire, couldn’t for the life of her figure out who her mystery man might have been. She half stood on tiptoes eyes flying across faces already seated in the restaurant, hoping she might spot a familiar face. If she could just _see_ him before he saw her, Claire could decide if it was worth staying or not. Whomever he was, he worked on the island. That was all Zara was willing to give her. She kept the details short, disabling Claire from backing out on too much information. 

The hostess smiled at her, her grin almost fake in its magnitude as she ushered Claire forward on a ‘ _This way, Ma’am_ ’. Claire stepped forward uneasily, hands fluttering down the waist of her slim dress, suddenly self-conscious in a sea of uncertainty. She had dressed to the nines for this man, someone she wasn’t too sure she would even like. All she had was Zara’s judgement, and the promise that Claire would _love_ him once they started talking. It unsettled her, but yet, there she was, following the hostess through the restaurant to a table that housed her blind date. 

The hostess stopped at a small booth. Claire could only see the very top of the mans blond head from where she stood. Heart pounding in her chest, she deliberated the idea of turning around and running. Claire’s hand found her hair, costing across the sharp edges softly in an attempt to calm herself. She could do this. Claire coaxed herself into a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the face she would meet. At least, she reasoned, if the date went badly, she would have every reason to turn Zara’s set ups down. 

Taking in a final deep breath, Claire stepped forward, and slid into the booth. 

‘I’m gonna _kill_ him,’ Her companion hissed loud enough for her to hear him. For Claire, that wasn’t her problem, she was thinking the exact same thing as her eyes caught with the cocky grin on a honeyed face that was all too familiar. Her blind date, in all it’s glory, was Owen Grady. 

Claire bristled, back in her hands as she clutched it tightly still deliberating her flight or fight. The restaurant settled around them. It felt like the whole place fell into a hush as Owen and Claire’s eyes met, the man smiling meekly. She could feel her heart pounding, a small amount of rage bubbling up underneath it. 

Of all the people, in the whole park, Zara had to set her up with Owen Grady the one man who infuriated her to the point of hysterics. They held a large number of interactions between them thanks to his inconsistency in filing progress reports on time. Regardless of the state, or ownership of his animals - Claire still needed the reports. For some reason, Owen never managed to get that in his head. Which left an infuriated Claire to drive out to the Velociraptor paddock in her own time, to chase him down. 

He was always smooth and full of charm, Owen Grady certainly never learnt the meaning of _personal space_ whenever she found herself out at the research paddocks. He was always nearby, and on occasion, right behind her. He forked it up to safety one afternoon when she cornered him about it, flustered with herself for being able to smell his cologne, mixed with sweat and dirt. He was _too_ close if she could smell him. 

‘I, ah - I guess I’m not what you were expecting.’ Owen started, fighting back a slight cringe as he watched discomfort flutter across her face. 

Claire’s laugh was short and fast as she shook her head, ‘Not at all’. 

‘Why’d you think they did it?’ Owen asked quietly, eyes on the glass in front of him, twirling the stem of the glass between his fingers. He had to assume it was all Barry and Zara, his friend was so insistent that he came out that night, that he met this blind date. Owen knew, too, that Claire wouldn’t leave her home voluntarily if she knew she would be going on a date with him. Someone had to talk her into it, Zara was the only option. Claire didn’t know. Her guess was as good as his, and neither of them could quite manage to put their finger on the pulse. ‘Maybe they want us to stop fighting’. His smirk was small, creeping up the corner of his mouth, as he watched her. 

‘That’s easy,’ Claire laughed, ‘Hand your reports in on time’. 

‘I’d never get to see you, if that happened.’ Owen shrugged, ‘I kinda like it when you’re all set alight, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, and stream blowin’ out your ears’. He was nonchalant as he flicked through the menu, eyes avoiding hers as she felt the blush creep up her neck. 

Claire faltered for a second, mouth agape like a blubbering fish before she managed to gain control. ‘Wait, are you saying you purposefully don’t finish your reports, just to make me come out to the paddock?’ 

Owen half shrugged in hesitation, his eyes meeting hers halfway as he quickly changed the subject. ‘Wow,’ He hummed long and low, the sound almost coming out on a whistle. ‘You look _beautiful_ tonight.’ Claire rolled her eyes, lashes fluttering slightly as her blush increased. 

‘You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr Grady.’ 

‘Owen,’ He corrected. ‘That is, unless you want to hightail it out of here.’ Claire bit her lip, finger playing with the edge of her menu as she studied Owen half in front of her, half beside her in the booth. 

She hummed, ‘Well, I’m already out, and dressed up … I can’t see the harm in staying’. Owen felt his heart jump in his chest. He couldn’t refrain the slow grin that crept across his face, pleased with Claire’s decision. He would be lying if he said he didn’t fancy a date with Claire Dearing. He just hadn’t managed the courage to ask her yet. He supposed, if all things went well, he owed Barry and Zara for their service. 

Her shoulders relaxed once they ordered dinner, slight laugh drifting from her lips at a story Owen had told. His heart was beating wildly, falling in love with every inch of her glee as she eased into the night, glass of red wine in her hand. 

To Owen’s surprise, Claire asked about his raptors - more specifically, she called them _his girls_. The monologue was easy, the stories on an unending tap. She laughed, _actually_ laughed during some early story about the girls and their habit of chewing through everything. 

She didn’t bring up Zara and Barry, or their ticked date. Instead, she lived it, asking about his work in the marines, and what his family thought about their son upgrading dolphins for dinosaurs. He returned the question, rephrased to learn Claire was distant from her family, including her sister and kid nephews. 

Topic of discussion chased back and forth, work and personal lives, where they went to college, travel, trivial things. There was no halt in conversation, not stutter, no pause. They talked until the waiter brought them their bill, politely truing to usher them out of the restaurant in order to bring new customers in. 

They stepped out onto the street in good spirit, Claire’s hand unknowingly in his. ‘Well … Owen, it’s been wonderful,’ She started, batting her eyelashes playfully. ‘But, I think it’s time to call it a night.’ He pouted, openly, his reaction honest to her words. ‘Don’t forget the deal,’ She told him softly. They discussed it briefly. They were going to tell their respective friends that the date was a disaster, that they couldn’t stand each other. He was a pig, she was stuck up, it didn’t work. Owen didn’t exactly agree, but Claire was still living of the need to claim vengeance against Zara - if only for being right. ‘Would you walk me to my car?’ She asked, a little coyly, smiling at him as Owen regained his thoughts.

He nodded, following her easily, Claire’s hand tucked against his, fingers so slight against his own. Owen felt mournful as they reached her car, cloud growing over his head. He didn’t want to let her go, watch her slip behind the wheel and drive away. She stopped, turned beside the drivers side door. 

‘Well, Mr Grady, this is my ride,’ She smiled shyly, hands flat at her sides. She squeaked when his lips met hers, the kiss not quite rough, but hard. He felt her stiffen, body grow rigid under his hands before she relaxed, surprising them both. 

He didn’t know what it was that pushed him forward. Owen thought, maybe it was their impending ending, Claire Dearing’s walls going back up brick by brick as she prepared to block him out. Or maybe it was the memory of her laugh, her pink cheeks and soft eyelashes against her skin. No matter, his hands moved on their own, cupping her face as he pulled her closer. 

Her squeak turned into a soft moan under his touch, her body liquifying against her car as Owen traced the seal of her lips with his tongue. ’Sorry,’ He breathed when they pulled apart, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out for her. 

‘Don’t be,’ Claire told him, reaching up on the tips of her toes to kiss him again. She hummed when the same spark shocked her at the touch of his lips, hands squeezing his arms tightly. ‘What’s the use in lying?’ She asked, referring to their plan. ‘I mean, they’re going to know we got along.’ Claire shrugged, watching her feet on the pavement, hoping he would be susceptible to a backtrack. Owen grinned, matching the flush across her skin as he kissed her in agreement. 

Maybe, just maybe, Barry and Zara had been onto something in the first place. 


	82. #82 - Charlie and Elliot's First Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: can you write about how the weeks following Elliot’s birth were?
> 
> and
> 
> amelias-obsessions: When Elliot (or Charlie) was still a tiny infant and wouldn't sleep through the night, Claire and Owen would always have the typical 'it's your turn ... no, it's definitely your turn' argument when she'd start to cry. One night, Owen takes up the challenge and sings his baby daughter back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not her first weeks in detail. But it's something, and it's long.

 

His chest almost collapsed with relief. A heavy breath escaped his lungs to coast across Claire’s cheek, as the doctor held up the newborn for them to see. She wasn’t crying. His heart stopped. Claire whimpered, her head turning against his shoulder. 

‘She’s okay,’ Owen whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek softly. At twenty-nine weeks gestation, their new daughter was tiny, _too_ tiny. No cry escaped from her little lungs, but her skin was pink, her little limbs swimming in newfound freedom. He couldn’t help the laugh, it bubbled in his chest, twisting with semi-filled grief. 

This brand new member of their family had put them all through the trial of wars. Claire’s body was heavy against his, worn our from the ordeal. Her strength had been drained for that small creature, her breath shallow. She tapped the side of his head with a weak arm, pulling on his ear. ‘Go with her.’ The request was simple. Owen pressed a hard kiss to her cheek before climbing out from behind his wife on wobbly legs. 

Nurses were huddled around a small station, tiny newborn lying on a table in front of them, her eyes still closed, an arm swinging in the air periodically. Owen stood, useless, behind them, towering over heads as they talked in words he couldn’t hear. 

A small enclosed crib was rolled into the room, wires and gizmos hanging off it’s edges. It looked like a monster in comparison to the small girl as they lowered her into it. An instinct ticked inside him, surging forward with the impulse to demand they remove his daughter. He let them do what they had to, knowing he had no credential other than, ‘ _I’m her father!’_ It wouldn’t help. 

There was a nurse by his side, hand on his arm, reassuring Owen that his baby girl was perfectly fine for premature. The incubator was there to help her continue to develop. They wouldn’t hurt her. Owen followed the crib, his daughter inside, as they pushed it out of the room and away from Claire. NICU was the acronym on lips that were simultaneously trying to do their job and keep him informed. 

He threw a glance towards Claire before leaving the room, her eyes squeezed shut, a nurse beside her bed. She was okay. She would be okay. Claire was a grown woman used to the ins and the outs of the world. Their newborn was not. He followed the infant. 

For a place designated for premature babies, some fighting for their lives, the NICU was noisy, machines ringing off in a chorus as cribs like his daughter’s contained similar, delicate children. He watched the name tag on her wrist intently, far too paranoid for his own liking that someone would switch his baby. 

He was locked out of the room they took her into, her crib parked by the window where he could see her. Owen stayed there for an hour, just watching nurses and eventually, Claire’s doctor, come up to see his baby girl. He stayed until a nurse came looking for him, quietly explaining that Claire had been moved to a room. Nothing else would happen with his daughter tonight that the nurses weren’t one hundred per cent aware of. She had a wonderful team watching over her. 

*

Owen stretched himself out along Claire’s hospital bed, his wife tucked into his chest. ‘Three pounds, five ounces,’ She told him regarding their daughter’s birth weight. So, _so_ , small. ‘Charlie was eight pounds.’ She groaned at herself in frustration, sleep nipping at her eyes. ‘I feel so useless just sitting here.’ Claire clumped a handful of his shirt inside her fist, clenching onto it tightly. 

Owen kissed her temple, a hand tracing lines up and down her side in an attempt to sooth her. ‘We still have to name her,’ His voice was low as he unlocked his phone and brought up the picture he had a nurse take. Claire hummed. They’d barely thought about it, sure that they had plenty of time to make up a list before she arrived. It wasn’t like they had been prepared for Charlie either. Claire was set on not naming the girl until she was in her arms. Even then, they had a short list - one they ultimately didn’t stick to. 

She was drifting in and out, her head on his chest, clutching tight to his shirt. ‘I need to see her for longer than two seconds, Owen. I need to _see_ her to _name_ her.’ He kissed her temple a second time, humming in agreement. 

Claire slept for an hour before a nurse came in, shooing Owen off the bed and waking Claire. He was almost livid with the woman until he realised it was for the baby. The woman talked quietly with Claire about the breast pump she had brought. Explain that just because the baby was in the NICU didn’t mean Claire couldn’t feed her. For now, it would have to be through a tube, but they would graduate later, once she gained some age and strength. 

She felt ridiculous. Cheeks blushed pink as she told Owen, for the twentieth time since their daughter was born, that she felt hopeless. Her husband, and the nurse quickly reassured her otherwise. 

His wife was asleep again almost immediately after the nurse left, already acclimatised to the sounds of the hospital around her. She was prepared and exhausted enough to fall asleep anywhere. She woke again, not long later as Owen sat in a chair beside her bed, shooting off text messages to their immediate family. 

Claire’s breath was caught in her throat as she woke with a start, her hand flying out for Owen. He was by her side in a second, terrified that she couldn’t breathe, his fingers inches away from the nurse call button. ‘Something’s wrong,’ Claire gasped, turning to Owen with wild eyes. He ran a hand over her head, smoothing down her messy hair. ‘Something’s wrong with the baby, Owen.’ She told him a second time, her hand forming a tight grip on his arm. 

She insisted he take her to the baby. Owen told Claire she was fine, she was being watched, he saw it with his own eyes. Claire refused to be convinced until she saw the girl herself, reassured the fears in her mind before falling back to sleep. 

They waddled up the hallway, Claire refusing a wheelchair even though she desperately needed it. They reached the NICU at the other end of the hall, just as a nurse pushed into the room his daughter was in, loud beeping swallowed by the door locking closed behind her. His heart stopped. Claire panicking beside him. Her whole body radiated _‘I told you so’_ without the words, the situation too dire for clipped remarks. 

‘Mr Grady?’ A voice, that could only belong to a nurse, called out. ‘What are you two doing up here?’ He recognised her face instantly. Rachel. The same nurse who took charge of his daughter when she was brought to the NICU. ‘You should be in bed,’ She told Claire sternly, giving the woman a disapproving look. Claire rebutted with concern only to have Rachel’s face soften. ‘She’s fine, I promise.’ She lead them over to the window, their daughter easily on display. ‘Little tiger has a few respiratory issues, but it’s nothing we haven’t seen up here. We’ve got her. If we think something is wrong beyond normal, you _will_ know.’ 

‘Can I hold her?’ Claire asked, her eyes on the tiny creature, so close and yet so far away. Rachel sighed, mournfully declining. 

‘Not yet. You’re welcome to come see her. You can even sit in the room if you like. But, we want to wait a day or two before we disrupt the incubator. This here is a very big world and she is a _tiny_ little girl. We want her comfortable before we broaden her horizons.’ She was hesitant when Claire asked if she could sit with the baby for a little while. Knowing full well that the woman had given birth four hours ago. 

Claire begged for an hour, a whole sixty minutes and then she promised to go to bed. She just wanted to see her daughter. 

*

The girl was three days old before Claire got to hold her with both hands. Three days and she already had seemed to have grown. Three days and Charlie was none to pleased that her parents weren’t home. 

The nurses in the NICU introduced Owen and Claire to Kangaroo Care. A procedure that had them sit with their daughter, skin to skin on their chests. Claire was thrilled, almost desperate for the interaction as soon as the words were in her ears. Seventy-two hours had been too long to not hold the child she had been carrying for months, anxious to meet. Owen had watched her fidget for three days, stressing herself out without any contact with the infant. They sat with her until they were kicked out. 

Returning to her room room, Claire would cry, tears wet on her cheeks, not a sound on her lips as Owen held her. It was frustrating her to no end, watching her daughter in a see-through case, machines beeping her vitals across the screen while Claire could only watch. He knew her pain was tenfold compared to his. Here was a child she had given birth too and she still hadn’t been given the opportunity to hold her yet. Being away from Charlie didn’t help. 

They had been calling her _the girl, the baby_ , _our daughter, baby Grady_ \- on behalf of the nurse staff - for three days. Neither could think of a name. They were at a complete loss, feeling ridiculous that she was three days old and without an identity longer than _Grady_. 

Tears were impatient on his wife’s cheeks as they settled the tiny girl to her mothers chest, tucking her into Claire's shirt. Her sob was small, falling on a slight whimper as she pressed her hand to the baby’s tiny spine. ‘I have been waiting so long to meet you,’ Claire whispered to the little ear under her chin. 

Owen was crying too. The first tears he’d let loose since the girl was born, just as frustrated and stubborn as Claire. They blurred his vision, obstructing the few of his wife and second daughter. A picture was snapped on his phone easily. The moment pure, as he sent it off to their siblings and his mother: the caption; s _till no name._

Claire talked. Nonsense mostly to the little girl on her chest as Owen marvelled at how his thumb swamped the infants palm. He chocked up all over again. Tiny. Defenceless. She wasn’t even supposed to be born, months still left on her clock. Claire would have been home from her business trip by now, their days mundane. They would have still thought she was ages away. 

‘Oh, she’s going to love you so much, …’ Caught in the middle of a sentence about Charlie, Claire stopped. She paused only for a second as she turned wide eyes to Owen, her mouth agape before the word formed. ‘Elliot.’ It was as easy as breathing, tumbling off her lips without second thought, the name sliding into place like it had always been there. 

Owen grinned, ‘Did you just give her a name?’ Claire nodded slowly, bottom lip trembling with the realisation, new emotions flooding to the surface. ‘Elliot,’ He rolled it across his tongue, the smile on his face almost reaching his ears. ‘Elliot Paige Grady.’ He said it again, full glory, adding a middle and his last name. 

He wasn’t lying when he said they hadn’t even contemplated names for the girl. They knew her gender and that was as far as they had managed. Paige flowed just as effortlessly for him as Elliot appeared for Claire. 

His wife gave him a watery smile. ‘That’s it then,’ She affirmed, ‘Elliot Paige Grady’. They wouldn’t need to talk it over any further than that. It was settled, her name sealed before it even touched paper. 

*

Their weeks moved in an out on the same pattern, visiting Elliot, taking their turns in holding her. They called Charlie before and after school, checking in with their grouchy little daughter who wasn’t pleased with the announcement of her new sister. She was warming too it, with each passing day. Slowly.

There were talks of sending Elliot home. Organising a hospital transfer to San Diego where her parents could return to their lives as apposed to living in an hotel after Claire had been discharged. And then, she stopped breathing in the middle of the night. Elliot’s doctor thought it best not to move her, watching to see if it was apnea or an underlying issue. Claire held tightly to Owen’s hand, knowing it was all too good to be true, that the other shoe needed to drop. 

When they stopped feeding her through a tube, and let Claire breast feed her, Elliot’s heart rate slowed frightening her mother and alarming her doctors a little further. Bradycarida. Nothing uncommon, but enough, that while they were keeping her in the NICU, they wanted to watch it. 

Three weeks past before they knew it. Owen went home. Leaving Claire and Elliot in New York for a few nights while he went to retrieve Charlie. They had tossed and turned on when would be the right time to collect her, choosing ultimately to leave her at home so the girl didn’t miss school. When the doctors took Elliot off her ventilator, confident that the infant no longer needed assistance as she reached her four week mark, they knew it was time for Charlie. 

She was quiet, and well behaved, hugging her mother in a death grip when Claire met them at the airport. Charlie played confused as they talked to her about her sister, too busy staring out the window as New York flew past her. 

‘Did you like having Daddy at home?’ Claire asked her eldest daughter, hand squeezing Charlie’s ankle as the girl sat twisted in her seat. She hummed, nodding enthusiastically, as she tried to catch her mother up on the two nights Owen had been home. 

‘You’re coming home soon, too?’ 

Claire nodded. ‘As soon as your sister is allowed to leave the hospital, we’ll be home.’ 

‘You don’t have to wait for her,’ Charlie told her, ‘You can come home now’. 

Owen laughed, eyes closed, full belly chuckle. The kind of laugh he made every time Charlie surprised him, and now Elliot too, even with her small whimpers and flailing limbs. It was some ridiculous family man laugh that only ever attached itself to the stories he repeated throughout the year. ‘ _You should have seen Elliot yesterday …’, ‘Charlie last week said the_ funniest _thing …_ ’, it was like his laugh was a memory, gluing down his favourite pieces and sticking them in a mental scrapbook. ‘We’ve talked about this, Charlie.’ 

The girl whined, body flopping as she sat in her seat properly. ‘But you’ve been gone for _sooo_ long.’ 

‘That’s because Elliot needed very special care here, and Mama needs to stay with her. Just like when you’re sick and you want her to cuddle with you, and read you a story. Elliot needs the same thing.’

‘Why?’ 

‘’Cause Mama’s magic.’ Owen whispered, kissing Charlie’s cheek. ‘Unfortunately, we have to share that now. But, it’s not so bad, Charlie. I learnt to share Mama’s magic with you. And, look, it works just fine.’

‘But that’s only one … two people! Not three. What if she runs out and can’t share no more?’ It was Claire’s turn to chuckle, her arm winding around Charlie’s back. She’d missed the girl, more than she had realised. 

Kissing the top of Charlie’s head, Claire reassured that she had enough special magic for all three of them. There was nothing to worry about.

*

Despite being gone for what felt like longer than what it had been. Five weeks in New York, caught in a hospital, and a sixth once they returned to San Diego,.Claire and Owen easily fell back into routine, plus one. 

He marvelled at how different life was after Elliot in comparison to their experience with Charlie. Claire hadn’t been well when their first daughter was born, hiding herself under the covers and choosing to ignore the postpartum depression diagnosis. 

The house was full of laughs once they got Elliot home. Everyone relieved to be there. They coasted through the comfort of home, their new daughter a relatively easy baby. She slept on time, ate practically on command, and Charlie had eased into the idea of her a little better. 

Several weeks after bringing Elliot home for the first time, the infant settled into her new crib, she started to cry. Owen and Claire had thought they counted blessed stars, relieved to have another daughter who slept soundlessly through the night. They had been wrong. She had crossed the line on three months old and decided to stop sleeping forever. 

Claire nudged him in the shin with her cold toes, nonverbally telling him to get the baby as her cries broke through the monitor. Owen nudged back, sure they’d missed a feeding in there somewhere and it was actually Claire’s job to get up. 

‘I fed her an hour ago, it’s your turn.’ Claire insisted with a hard shove, sleepy giggle on her lips. Owen relented, succumbing to the realisation that she had it easy. He couldn’t complain, at least they managed to play that game. He got up every time Charlie cried - that was to say, _when_ she cried -Claire dead to the world, knocked out by her thoughts, or wilful to ignore the cries of her newborn. He tended to every nighttime cry, only waking Claire if it was feed time. He didn’t mind so much, the quiet of the night allowed him to spend time with his daughter, get to know her a little better as they paced around the kitchen in the dark. He was thrilled to share that with Elliot. 

‘Daddy!’ A little voice shouted at him when he reached the hall, Charlie standing in the doorway of her bedroom, hands covering her ears. ‘Tell Ellie to shush. I’m allergic to noise!’ She told him innocently, definite pout etched across her young face as Owen kissed her cheeks and apologised. 

He thought Charlie returned to bed by the time he reached Elliot’s door, pushing it open to find the infant red faced and _still_ crying. He had hoped the wails were apart of his imagination by the time he reached her bedroom door. He had been wrong before. 

Owen scooped Elliot up, tucking her into the crook of his arm as he bounced her softly. Her fingers wrapped around his thumb, small hand finally big enough to do that. ‘Is this you realising that you’ve reached your due date … that you were on the planet too early?’ He asked her, half expecting a response. 

Something banged against the wall behind him. Owen jumped. Charlie stood sheepishly in the moonlight, holding onto the neck of his guitar. Her eyes pleaded with him in the dark. When Charlie was young, all it took was music, Owen strumming strings to any tune. His guitar had lived in her bedroom practically since she was born. He sighed, defeated at the late hour. ‘C’mon,’ He nudged his head towards the armchair in Elliot’s nursery. 

Owen sat. Elliot still in the crook of his arm, Charlie climbing up onto his lap to fill the other space. His guitar sat awkwardly in front of their three bodies, his fingers unable to reach the strings as much as he liked. He didn’t exactly care. Not when his audience was made up of little girls. They were supposed to love him no matter what. 

‘I thought you were allergic to noise?’ Owen threw the quip back at Charlie as he kissed her hair. 

She shook her head, ‘Just play, Daddy’. 

With his daughters curled up behind his guitar, the music a little shaky, Owen begun to play. It wasn’t anything in particular, just the first set of notes that came to his head, the same song he played over and over again. 

The sound washed over them. Instantly silencing Elliot as Owen began to hum, the words in his head but not on his tongue. He was caught in the moment. Soaking in his daughters and their situation, thankful to anyone’s God for this path. 

‘Did you get stuck?’ A voice whispered in his ear, causing Owen to jolt slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He’d fallen asleep without realising, daughters still in his lap, as well as his guitar. It was Claire, whispering beside him, smile twinkling in the moonlight. 

He was, without a doubt, stuck. Trapped behind the guitar and weighed down by sleep weight. Claire moved the guitar first before reaching for Elliot, settling it down beside the armchair. He stared for a second, thinking back to Elliot’s first days, how small she was, as Claire lifted the girl and cuddled her to her chest. She’d grown so much already, quickly catching up to the normal rate.

Owen stood with Charlie, carrying the girl back to her bed without a word. Claire met him in the hallway, pressed on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ He whispered, _for everything._ She laughed, teasing that it wasn’t going to be the first time she would have to rescue him from the girls … and his guitar. 

 


	83. #83 - Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 1 ‘Pull over. Let me drive for a while’, and No. 80 ‘Is your seatbelt on?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep this from angstville. Also, I had Halsey’s ‘Drive’ stuck in my head ... even though they don’t match. Whatever.

She was antsy. Unable to keep still. Her fingers twitched out of rhythm against the counter top. She pushed herself up, turning from the kitchen, car keys jangling as Claire moved for the door. 

‘Where are you going?’ Owen called out to her, worried curiosity creasing in his forehead. Claire stopped, her hand on the door knob, face blank. She blinked at him for a second, as though she hadn’t quite thought about what she was doing. 

Claire’s shoulders dropped, ‘Out?’ He dropped the dish he was holding, crookery sliding back into the sink as Owen slipped his hands out of the gloves. He was pulling her coat off the hook by the door when she finally crinkled her brow. 

Owen shrugged, ‘It’s cold out,’ He told her. She blinked again. Owen didn’t offer an explanation, and Claire didn’t ask. Instead, she stepped out the door, heading into the crisp winter air. 

San Diego’s winter wasn’t as cold as it could have been. They could have found themselves in Madison, shacked up with her sister, buried under blankets of snow. And yet, the cool air coasting across Claire’s cheeks seemed to continually baffle her. The sun was out, waves crashed against the beach. It had a few similarities to Isla Nublar, enough to accomodate a transition but not enough to convince her that it was the same thing. Thick topical air and the scolding sun was ingrained into her skin forever. The lack of it in San Diego so far, was throwing Claire through a loop.

Owen followed her, as Claire buttoned up her coat and climbed into the drivers seat of the car. He didn’t say anything, only climbed in on the other side, seatbelt sliding across his chest before clicking soundly. 

‘I don’t know where I’m going,’ She told him admitting an unknown need to _drive._ He reached out for her hand on the hand-break, squeezing tightly. He understood. There had been a similar need in him when he returned from his first tour. Civilian life didn’t feel real, it wasn’t normal, not in comparison to what he’d witnessed. Owen found himself on the road, his truck cruising along highways, zigzagging in and out of mountains just so he could clear his head. 

She drove, eyes on the road, radio off, Owen silent beside her. Claire followed the signs that claimed to lead her along San Diego’s fifty-nine mile scenic route. She barely batted an eyelid at the signs, just kept following them as the city fell and rose around them, shifting and turning. 

Owen sighed once they got a clear view of the ocean out Claire’s window, the sea always a welcoming relief. She would have offered to pull over, to sit on the beach and breathe with the incoming waves, but she couldn’t stop. Hands clutched to the steering wheel, foot pressed heavily to the gas pedal. 

‘Is your seatbelt on?’ Owen’s voice cracked through the silence, beach a faint outline in the rear view mirror. Claire nodded, hand releasing the steering wheel to tug on the strap. It had hidden itself under the collar of her jacket, enough so that Owen could hardly see it. 

He hummed, satisfied with her answer as he tried to control his beating heart. ‘You worried about me?’ She asked, taking her eyes off the road briefly to watch him. Owen shrugged, smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

It was a protective instinct, something that drove him insane when he couldn’t ensure her safety on his own. It had grown since the Jurassic World incident. An unbearable need to keep her safe, despite the fact that she could do so herself bubbled in his chest. They’d come so far already. He couldn’t loose her to a forgetful mind that forgot something as easy as a seatbelt. 

‘Pull over,’ The statement caught between a suggestion and question. Claire didn’t hesitate, her wrist flicking the car’s indicator on as she migrated to the side of the road. ‘Let me drive for a while.’ They’d been in the car for two hours, likely well on their way to Los Angeles if they kept up with the direction. Claire blinked sleepy eyes at him, her hands ridged on the wheel, stuck there from her clamped grip. 

Owen got out. He rounded the car, approaching her door and pulling it open. Gently he pried her fingers from the wheel. ‘I know what it’s like.’ He told her softly, bent slightly so he was at her height and not towering over her. ‘To be at a crossroads between what you used to know, and what you have to adapt to now. You’re going to be staring through glass walls for a while, driving along the coast with no real destination. That’s fine. But, you need to let me help.’ She nodded slowly. There was no fight in her, no reason why she would push him away. They migrated to the city together, small home shared. She let him close enough, she wasn’t going to let him go. 

He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek as Claire pulled herself out of the car, Owen’s hand gliding past her hip as they changed charge. It came so easily, light touches, vacant kisses, hollow excuses for a promise. Owen trusted her. Trusted the quiet little whimpers that met him in the dark, ghosting across frightened lips. He sighed heavily as he watched her walk past the bonnet before taking the seat he vacated. 

There was a long road ahead. 

Claire’s hand reached out for his, lacing her fingers between his larger ones as she rested their joined hands on the centre console. This was enough. They were together for survival. Even if it meant long drives across the coast, chasing the city in and out as they mapped circles around their new home. For now, they would drive. 


	84. #84 - Madison Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 70 'You're warm', and No. 81 'Sweet dreams'.

‘You’re warm,’ She breathed against his skin, face tucked against his neck. Owen chuckled, the sound vibrating across his skin as he felt Claire wiggle closer. He had a quip about _funny_ _business_ and her sisters house on the tip of his tongue, but didn’t bother in uttering it. 

Madison was freezing. Claire _was_ freezing. Owen was on the verge of wondering what grounds he had in kicking her out of bed for cold feet. He was already swearing never again to visit her sister over the holiday period. From here on out, Karen and the boys needed to visit them. Owen was fairly certain Claire wouldn’t disagree. 

The cold had seeped into their bones, turning Claire’s lips the faintest shade of blue. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook. She bunkered down into Owen every chance she had, curling herself into his coat or simply wrapping her arms around him. She was faltering, and fast. Acclimatising to San Diego had been one thing, Madison was something else entirely. Not used to it, Claire suffered. Owen doing only a little better for wear. He had the magical ability to retain heat, and thus drawing Claire closer. 

They had three more nights left of shivering cold. Three nights where Claire would bury herself against his body, holding on with all her might. She would kick him away once they went home, Owen reunited with his side of the bed and Claire’s incessant complaining that he _ran too hot_ in his sleep. 

He dropped a kiss to her ear, wrapping his arms around her waist tighter. They balanced each other out. She was useless in the cold, and he in the heat, needing each other to equalise the temperature. Even with his arms around her, two duvets on top of them; Claire shivered. 

‘It’s so cold,’ She complained on a whisper for the umpteenth time. He squeezed her. Claire hummed, shifting a little closer. She sighed his name, the sound drifting past her lips in quiet contentment. 

She was usually the restless one. Turning out the light only to toss and turn, unable to fall asleep. The cold kept her docile, his warm body keeping her close to his. There was no space to toss and turn, unless she wanted to freeze in her sleep. Instead she wiggled closer every few seconds, almost as though she was trying to crawl under his skin, embedding herself in the warmth he provided. 

Claire had always been independent. Claimed she didn’t need him for anything, if not for the nightmares. Owen, for the most part, loved being needed. He could function without her calling out to him, or clinging on tightly. He couldn’t live without her toothbrush next to his, their mugs on the table together, or breakfast made in unison. 

Owen needed Claire far more than she needed him. He was starting to doubt her end of the relationship, wondering when she would eventually get bored, or stable enough to kick him out. These cold nights in Madison had proved, despite how slightly pathetic the situation, that Claire needed him. She wasn’t just clingy for warmth. The holidays had brought out a side of Claire he didn’t recognise, a side her family knew long ago. 

She shifted beside him slightly, her small hand trailing up his face to press to his nose. ‘Shh,’ Claire sighed, her voice half asleep. ‘You breathe too loud.’ Owen couldn’t help the chuckle as he kissed her hand before it slunk back to its warm place. ‘Nigh’,’ She kissed his neck, tucking in closer, her head under the blankets. 

‘Sweet dreams,’ He whispered back to her, kissing the top of her head. He loosened his grip on her slightly as he let go of her sister’s cold bedroom in the middle of winter and drifted off to sleep. 


	85. #85 - Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 32 ‘It looks good on you’, and No. 38 ‘I like your laugh’.

 

The words slipped from his mouth without any thought, catapulting themselves in the air. The kickback pushed him into embarrassment, dread building in his belly as the words echoed in his years. 

‘ _I like your laugh_ ’. 

Claire sobered in front of him, her glee short lived as her face crumbled in confusion. She blinked. ‘I, ah, no - No, I do. You have a nice laugh.’ He tried to backtrack before realising the move was useless. Owen would only stumble around his words and end up half insulting her in the process in order to reclaim his pride. 

A warm blush settled over Claire’s neck. Her confusion shifted to annoyance before settling on a friendly half smile. ‘It looks good on you … It, ah, it suits you, I mean. Laughing. You should laugh more.’ She did, as Owen verbally tripped over himself. Laugh soft and gentle as it washed over Owen, calming him almost instantly. 

He’d made some backhanded comment about Hoskins, something Owen didn’t think Claire had heard when she started laughing. The sound had caught him off guard, grounding the man and stunning him instantly. His heart jumped in his chest, affection sparkling in his eyes. He watched, in the split second that it took, as Claire Dearing’s business woman resolve melted into the humoured young woman she was behind the facade. 

Leaning against one of the portable offices outside the raptor paddock, Owen almost collapsed. He stared at her for a second, her eyes elsewhere as her mirth rolled from her, settling on a slight giggle, her hand to her cheek. 

He told a joke, cracking for the same sound that had simultaneously lifted his spirits and put him in the ground. Owen could die a happy man if he heard her laugh once more. The joke rolled into an anecdote about his raptors as small hatchlings, following him around his bungalow, nipping at his heels. Before he knew it, they were caught in casual conversation, Claire’s humour constant as she looked him in the eye, taking every word he said into thought. 

Owen couldn’t have dreamed of it, holding a conversation with Claire Dearing that didn’t involve her ripping off his head over unfilled reports. If he wasn’t in a tachycardic state thanks to her laugh, he would have been due to the scenario. 

He’d been on the island for close to three years, a small love lust building in the back of his mind, his whole focus; Claire Dearing. She was unobtainable, out of his league, and hated him to the fifth degree. Owen had tried flirting, only to be stared down until he stopped, apology wilfully falling from his lips. 

Here they were now, talking. Actually talking. Claire amused with the things he had to say, body language positive, flush on her cheeks thanks to his half embarrassed compliment. ‘I’ll give it a go,’ She offered in regards to his statement. He was partially right. She should laugh more. She missed it. Maybe those in Control would stop thinking she was a heartless bitch if she just laughed at a joke every once in a while. 

The fond light in his eyes was undeniable as Claire stepped out of the shade and into the blearing sun, knowing she couldn’t put off her confrontation with Hoskins any longer. 


	86. #86 - End of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 5 ‘I’ll walk you home’, No. 12 ‘Take my jacket, it’s cold outside’, and No. 28 ‘Drive safe’.

They rose from the table in unison, Owen accepting his jacket from the hostess as she handed back his card. He moved before he spoke, nothing that she had nothing to cover her shoulders. ‘Take my jacket,’ He said as Claire stepped away, the fabric only inches from her skin. ‘It’s cold outside’. Claire nodded softly, stepping back into his jacket as Owen lowered it to her shoulders. 

She thanked him quietly, Owen’s hand on the small of her back as they moved for the restaurant’s front door. The day hadn’t rolled around with the forewarning that the air would chill. Claire was wildly unprepared for the cold that seeped into her bones as they stepped out the door. Owen stepped around her as they lingered on the pavement. 

Main Street was quiet, the park’s guests all tucked into bed. Those who were not, hid away in the restaurants and Margaritaville. Claire inhaled a deep breath, watching the street flicker with the occasional soul. 

‘C’mon,’ His hand lingered at her hip. ‘I’ll walk you home.’ 

Claire leant into him, as their steps echoed across the pavement. ‘You only need to walk me to Command,’ She told him softly, fond smile on her lips. 

‘Well, I’ll walk you to Command.’ That worked for him, he’d left his bike by the building anyway, keeping it out of civilian way. 

Claire tucked her arm around his, holding Owen’s hand as they walked. So far as dates went, this one was impossible. Their first date was a disaster. Despite their misgivings, it led to a second, to a third, to this current night - a fourth. He was persistent and dedicated to the cause that they could work. Reluctantly, at first, she eased into the idea until spending time with Owen was as simple as breathing. 

They didn’t talk, only walked as the Innovation Centre loomed ahead of them, the lights bright and brilliant. ‘Tonight was nice,’ He broke the silence, holding onto her presence for a second longer. Claire hummed, marvelling in the emptiness of the building as they past the visitor’s entrance and headed towards the labs. She kissed his cheek softly, pressed up on the tips of her toes when they stepped into the staff elevator. 

Owen hummed, ‘It’s a work night’. Claire agreed, limiting themselves to the boundaries they created. Claire was terrified that they would crash and burn, a fling flung out too fast that it would burn itself up before it broke the atmosphere. They had shared a few nights, weekends only, when neither had work. It satisfied a low thrumming urge, and kept it alive all at once. 

‘I know,’ She grinned. ‘A girl’s not allowed to thank her date for the evening?’ Her tone was teasing as she stepped away from him, Owen not hesitating in pulling her back. She could thank him all she wanted. But, it was her rules he was trying to obey. 

Claire kissed him again, this time on the lips once they reached her car in the garage. Back against the drivers side door, she moaned into his mouth, hands caught on the lapels of his shirt. ‘I should give this back,’ Claire told him, shrugging his jacket off her shoulders. Owen had been right, it was cold out, the man shivering slightly beside her as they walked along the street. He thanked her, making a mental note that Claire in his clothes was a sight he needed to see again. ‘Drive safe,’ She tapped his chest, full palm, eyeing his motorcycle wearily. 

‘When don’t I?’ He asked, pecking the corner of her lips before saying goodbye.


	87. #87 - Important Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 2 ‘It reminded me of you’, No. 75 ‘I was just thinking about you’, No. 86 ‘You’re important too’, and No. 92 ‘I want you to be happy’.

 

‘Hey,’ Owen breathed, smile easing across his face as he found Claire sitting in the living room of their shared home. ‘I was just thinking about you.’ He’d spent the better part of his day hunkered down in the garage, tinkering with his new bike. It hardly came as a surprise to find Claire already home for the day.

He twirled the stem of a sunflower between his fingers. She stared at him in surprise, curious as to where the flower came from, but not willing to ask. Owen wouldn’t tell her, even if she begged, there was something shameful in admitting to jumping the neighbours fence just to pinch a flower. ‘It reminded me of you’. It had, the wide bright face had caught his eye, and sparked the same warmth and joy he felt just from being in Claire’s presence. 

She took it, small smile fluttering across her face before her expression drew downward, eyes pensive. ‘Funny, I was just thinking about you too’. 

Owen stopped, watching her curled form on the couch. ‘Is everything okay?’ His heart skipped in his chest, worry falling on his shoulders as Claire looked up at him slowly. 

She was elsewhere. Sitting in front of him, only half the person she usually was, likely still caught in her thoughts. ‘I was thinking … maybe you should start looking for your own place.’ Owen was certain he stopped breathing. He knew it was coming, her statement, had sensed she was on the brink of it for weeks. ‘The trials are winding down. I won’t even need to stay here much longer. As soon as I’m given the go ahead, I’ll be leaving Costa Rica.’ She said the words, and she meant them, but Owen could tell it wasn’t the full truth. 

Silence stewed between them, bubbling and steaming, breaking down what little air they had left. Owen refused to speak, instead he waited with greased hands, desperate to get the black liquid off, but unable to move. ‘I don’t know … I don’t know where I’m going yet. I guess, wherever offers me a job first. There won’t be the place for you.’ 

‘Why not?’ His voice was low, somewhat shy and insistent. 

There was her issue. Right there. Claire was going to leave and Owen couldn’t go with her, for reasons of her own, not legality. They had developed a semi codependency as days and nights surpassed the incident, nightmares and day terrors stalking them from the shadows. 

It wasn’t healthy, but Owen was convinced he loved her before all of that havoc anyway. He was so used to having her around that the idea of her leaving, of his not accompanying her, seemed unbearable. 

Truth be told, Owen was no longer needed for the proceedings of the Jurassic World incident, he gave his statement, he defended Claire … he may have threatened someone. That was all they wanted. All Claire wanted, despite his offer to stick by her side for every second of the day. Once her panic attacks dissolved from severe to manageable, she no longer needed him. He stuck around. Owen could have left, and yet he stayed, slumming it with her in some crappy apartment, one of the cheapest they could find while her Masrani accounts were frozen. 

He could have been settled, in a big city with a new job, but he stayed with her. 

Claire swallowed, her eyes focused on her hands in her lap, flower held between her fingers, unable to look at him. ‘I want you to be happy,’ She whispered faintly. ‘Staying glued to my side isn’t what you need.’ 

Owen dropped to the floor in front of her, shuffling on his knees to get closer, his dirty hands encompassing hers, her knees pressed to his chest. ‘What makes you think that isn’t what I need?’ She had no idea what he needed, she barely asked. They lived for months in that small apartment, Claire in the bedroom, Owen on the couch, passing soft pleasantries past each other each morning as she prepared coffee, and he tried not to burn the toast. 

She shrugged. Slight mumble telling him that she didn’t know, before she hesitated, admitting quietly that she was scared. ‘You’re a very smart woman, Claire, but you can be so very dense.’ He grinned, lines cutting into his cheeks as he attempted humour. ‘I’m happy, so long as you’re happy.’ 

Claire shook her head, ‘You’re too important’. He thought she had missed the hoards of phone calls, emails and letters. Research teams reaching out to Owen in a desperate need to employee him, archeologists, museum co-founders, zoological scientists. He let them all drift to the sidelines, noncommittal and vague responses, not letting them go, but not keeping them. 

‘You’re important too’. He told her, hands squeezing hers, waiting the beat it took for Claire to meet his eye. She shook her head, again. No one was calling after her, no one that wasn’t a journalist seeking and exclusive soundbite. There wasn’t an employee in the world who seemed to be looking for a Senior Assets Manager that allowed the fallout of Jurassic World to end with the casualties that it did. All at the hand of _her_ assets. 

‘No, I’m not.’ 

‘You are,’ Owen nodded, thumb under her chin. ‘You’re important to me.’ Claire rolled her eyes, not blind to his corny lines. She wasn’t immune to them either, smile coasting across her face as she bit into her lip. ‘I’m not leaving your side, Claire. Not even if you pick up and move to Alaska.’ Within reason of course. If Claire really wanted him to stay behind, if she was adamant that they go their seperate ways, Owen wouldn’t fight her … not too much. 

‘Even if I have to move in with my sister in Madison?’ She asked quietly, steely reserve returning. 

Owen nodded, laughter on his lips. ‘It won’t be necessary, but, yeah. Even if you have to shack up with Karen. I’ll be there.’ 

She reached out, hand tentatively touching his rough cheek, thumb poised on his chin. ‘What did I do to deserve your dedication?’ Never in her life, had she seen a man so undeniably at the whim of a woman. Dedication, worship, admiration, love. Whatever it was, it was unravelling from Owen Grady so far she never thought she’d find the end of it.

‘You don’t take my shit, not for a second. You’re so out of my league it’s kind of ridiculous. And I need you more than you will ever need me. Just, for some chaotic reason, you actually saw me, gave me a chance. Claire, you deserve everything.’ He poked at the flower in her hands, suddenly feeling ridiculous that it was all he had given her. Two months worth of living together and he stole her a singular flower.

Her eyes were open. Every piece of well meaning affection, every nightmare, panic attach and overbearing protection. It was overwhelmingly obvious that he cared, but it only just managed to reach her blind eyes and deaf ears.

Leaning forward, her hands on his stubble covered cheeks, Claire graced his lips with a gentle, thankful kiss. Her eyes fluttered close, forehead pressed to his, breath mingling between them. ‘Thank you,’ She whispered lightly. Claire was convinced she didn’t deserve him, and Owen her, the two of them fighting out ultimatums in their heads. Neither relented until the other gave in. Claire allowing Owen to pull down the last of her walls. 

Wherever she went, Owen would be there beside her. 


	88. #88 - Borrow Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 20 ‘You can borrow mine’, and No. 74 ‘We can share’.

 

Sat glumly on Owen’s sofa, pouting at the rain that fell outside his window. She was miserable. Stuck in his bungalow as a storm ragged violently, Claire cursed herself for bad timing. She should have known better than to rush out there, kicking up a fuss towards the man’s inability to be organised. 

The wind howled, downing out the white noise that belonged to the island. Lightning flashed, thunder clapped, leaving Claire rooted to the spot, Owen watching her from the small kitchen. Her clothes were drenched, the heavens having opened up on her, mid discussion. 

‘I don’t think it’s going to let up,’ Owen told her, watching the trees sway in thick currents of downpour from the window. He turned towards her when she didn’t respond, met with wide impossible eyes. Owen shrugged, ‘It’s safer to stay.’ She had moved to stand, half off the sofa, before she dropped, misery slipping further down her face. 

She dropped her head to her hand, scrubbing at her face. ’My room’s down the hall .. I mean, if you’re tired … You can,’ Owen struggled. ‘You can sleep, if you want. I won’t mind.’ Claire shook her head, softly, thanking him on a quiet voice. But, if he didn’t mind, she wanted to wait out the storm. ‘Do you want to change?’ He offered, watching the fabric of her clothes stick to her skin. She was shivering, despite the warmth of his bungalow, and trying to hide it. 

Claire stared at him, like the man had grown a second head. ‘I don’t have any clothes.’ 

Owen rolled his eyes, ‘Yeah, well, I know that.’ He chuckled, watching Claire bristle at the sound. ‘You can borrow mine.’ Her staring didn’t cease, mouth poised ready to lecture him on propriety and how she’d prefer to catch phenomena rather than wear his clothes. ‘Really, I don’t mind. We can share.’ He winked at her, instantly laughing off his bad joke, apologising quickly. She was driving him mental shivering on his couch, soaked to the skin. ‘Seriously though,’ Owen sobered. ‘You can’t sit in wet clothes all night.’ He left the room, only to return minutes later, a spare pair of sleep shorts and flannelette in his hand. 

She took his offering shyly, as she stood before disappearing down the hall he had vacated. 

Claire Dearing made Owen want to tear his hair out. Never had he met with a woman whose force was as fiery as her hair. She pushed his buttons, and the boundaries of his limitations. And yet, he held a deep admiration for her. She always met him, toe to toe, prepared to tear him down just as he was willing to do the same. 

He didn’t expect her to render him speechless, stood in front of him, wearing nothing but his clothes. She was practically swimming in his flannel. It was the first time Owen ever thought of her as slight. Claire’s cheeks flushed pink. She’d helped herself to his bathroom too, taking a towel to dry off her hair. 

The shirt was a deep red, traditionally patterned, and surprisingly didn’t clash with her hair. Her skin glowed in the warm off light of his bungalow, setting porcelain into a fragile honey. Despite the storm, it was still warm out. Long legs were on display under an old pair of his shorts, tempting him with bare skin. 

‘Much better,’ Owen cleared his throat, once he found his voice again. Claire smiled, thanking him as she took her previous seat. With her legs tucked under her, Owen’s shirt swamped her body, legs tucked underneath her, settling like a blanket across her skin. 

She fiddled with her phone, while he watched her, marvelling in the sight before him. Something shifted in his chest, admiration moulding itself into affection with the slightest licks of lust. He didn’t understand where it had come from, his chest softening at the sight of her. 

He shook himself, chasing away the thought. ‘You ever seen _Shutter Island_?’ Claire looked at him mildly, somewhat confused at his question until he pulled the DVD case out of his cabinet. 

‘I don’t have time for movies,’ She told him bluntly. 

His head turned toward the window, silence falling between them again, allowing for the storm to speak for itself. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think you have a little time now.’ 


	89. #89 - Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn and anon: No. 50 ‘I think you’re beautiful’.

He could hear her indecisive grumble from down the hall. Sighs of frustration and little grunts of agony. Owen sought her out after twenty minutes, his eyes on the clock, they would be late if she left it any longer.

‘Everything okay?’ He asked, rounding the corner into their bedroom. Stood in front of the full length mirror, Claire pouted. Owen couldn’t help but chuckle at her defeated stance, figure hugging black dress accentuating every curve. More importantly, he was drawn to the fabric stretched comfortably across the generous swell of her stomach. 

Side on with the mirror, Claire scrutinised the shape of her silhouette, hand on her five month bump. ‘I thought you liked the dress?’ Owen asked, suddenly aware that her frustration came from the look and nothing else. She’d agonised over this dress in the mall for a week, before succumbing to the purchase. Now that it was on, time ticking above their heads, she was uncertain. 

‘I did,’ She sighed. ‘Now it just looks like I’ve swallowed a house’. Claire hummed, twisting and turning at every angle small frown on her face. She only stopped once Owen stood behind her, hands on her hips, stilling all movement. 

He kissed her cheek fondly. Dispelling the comment she had made about herself. The bump was cute and completely adorable. If he hadn’t already found himself in love with her before she told him she was pregnant, he would have been now. And despite all that, it was barely visible behind her normal clothes. The dress only accentuated the slight curve, not completely out of place with her body. ’I think you’re beautiful,’ He told her watching her smile flutter to life in the mirror. 

She reached a hand up to tap his cheek in good humour. ’Yeah, well, you have to say that.’ 

‘Doesn’t make it any less true.’ It was no secret that Owen found her beautiful in any form, dressed to the nines or lounging around in sweats. Pregnancy only made him admire her more, the slight swell of her stomach making him beam with pride. ‘We’re gonna be late.’ He reminded her softly, watching the time tick on his watch. ‘It’s only Zach’s high school graduation. It doesn’t matter what you wear.’ 

She sighed for the millionth time, hands running over the fabric on her hips. She gave in, asking Owen to close the zip. He kissed the bare skin of her back before pulling the sip up and smoothing out her dress. ‘Perfect,’ He announced to her grinning face, please that she was comfortable in her own skin. He didn’t think she owned anything else that would fit her or the occasion. 

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that.’ 

He shrugged, ‘Ridiculous, but right. You’re beautiful,’ Owen punctuated the word with a kiss, trying not to smear her makeup. ‘You’re perfect,’ Another kiss, ‘You’re mine,’ A third, ‘And we’re going to be late’. She chuckled against his skin, revelling in the slight scratch of his stubble, as Claire promised she was ready to go. 


	90. #90 - Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 18 ‘Here, drink this. You’ll feel better’, No. 39 ‘Don’t cry’, No. 41 ‘Go back to sleep’, and No. 98 ‘Take a deep breath’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m almost at 100 prompts ... one hundred ... if there’s anything special you’d like to see for that celebratory prompt, let me know and I’ll take it into consideration. If not I’ll carry on like normal, and whatever I pick is whatever I pick. Which is how this whole thing works anyway but whatever.

She hadn’t realised that she was screaming until Owen’s voice broke through her thoughts. He was on the bed beside her, arms wrapped around her waist as he crushed her to his chest. Claire sputtered for a moment, suddenly awake and all too aware of her surroundings.

They were alive, stuck in the last available hotel room in the entirety of Costa Rica. She’d felt bad in turning Owen away, the room granted to her as a high level Masrani Global employee. He gratefully took her offer to share, promising in al his chivalry that he would sleep on the floor. Claire reprimanded it as nonsense, but Owen stuck to his word. 

Claire gasped for breath, sucking in all the air she could before she choked on it. Under other circumstances she would have pushed away, embarrassment flaring at her cheeks. There was no time for that, no thought of it neither. She couldn’t breathe, nightmares still stalking at the edges of her dreams, the hot breath of the Indominus Rex still breathing down her neck. 

She grabbed for him, her arms locking around his neck despite the fact that he was already holding her upright. His voice washed over her, shushing at intervals until she calmed. ‘Take a deep breath,’ He encouraged watching her with worried green eyes. Claire swallowed her fear, whole body trembling, as Owen tightened his grip, encouraging her with a soft voice. 

‘Better?’ He asked, noting the easier rise and fall of her chest. Claire nodded, pulling away from him slightly to sit on her own. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, threatening to burst out from behind her ribs with its ferocity. Claire shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, or at least chase away the lingering images in her head. Owen’s hand was on her back, she hadn’t noticed until he started rubbing soft circles across her shoulder blades. 

It hit her like an unsuspecting tidal wave, grief barreling to her chest. She had caught her breath, only to loose it again, as a sob forced its way out of her throat. Owen sighed, expelling his own despair. ‘Don’t cry,’ He reached for her, hands cupping her cheeks, thumbs wiping away her tears. ‘It’s okay. Everything’s okay.’ He hushed, taking her back in his arms. 

Owen let her go when she fought against him, desperate for space. He moved for the minibar when she crawled against the headboard, knees tucked against her chest. ‘Here,’ Owen extended his arm, small bottle of vodka clasped between his fingers. ‘Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.’ Claire rose a skeptical eyebrow, watching him from crossed arms. ‘Okay, it won’t make you feel _better._ But, it will block out the noise in your head. I promise.’ She took the small bottle without word, screwing off the cap and downing it quickly. 

With his eyes on the clock, Owen scrubbed at his face. ‘You should go back to sleep.’ The suggestion came mostly from the clock, the time nearing early hours of the morning. He didn’t know what was in store for them in the coming morning, but he knew Claire needed her rest. 

She shook her head, ‘I don’t think I can’. Owen sat beside her, watching her unsteady eyes linger on the blanket. He inched closer, his hand on hers, pulling her into his chest. She moved willingly, curling into him as she accepted the comfort he offered. 

‘You can, and you will. You’ll only feel worse if you don’t sleep.’ He followed his words with more. Anecdotes of his time in the Marines, of the nightmares that followed. He was helping, not only because he cared, but because he had been there. ‘I’m right here,’ Owen told her, hand stroking through her hair as she surrendered all control against his chest. 

‘For survival, right?’ She asked quietly, uncertain after they’d arrived onshore. 

A kiss was pressed to the crown of her head. ‘Right.’ 

She hummed into his chest quietly, sinking into his embrace for a second before pushing away. ‘I’ll sleep, I promise. I just need to check on the boys.’ She pulled away, still shaking, his hand lingering in hers as he chuckled. He mumbled understanding as he accepted the gentle kiss she placed to the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll be gone a second,’ Claire promised as she moved for the door, her sister and nephews, thankfully down the hall.


	91. #91 - Study Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: No. 37 ‘Can I kiss you?’, No. 65 ‘I’ll help you study’, and No. 89 ‘I noticed’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a college AU. Thought I’d give it a go ... as a college student ... it wasn’t as easy as it should have been. 
> 
> Speaking of, I’m back at Uni on Monday which is filling out my writing days - updates might be sparse ... might be.

His bag clunked down onto the table heavily, a drink landing on top of her notebook as he dropped into the chair beside her. Claire grinned, thanking him quietly and greeting him simultaneously. Her hands reached for the pomegranate juice and unscrewing the cap. Owen sighed beside her, hands between his knees, head hanging from his shoulders. 

‘Why do you always pick the ‘no talking’ study zones. Why couldn’t we study upstairs?’ She chuckled at his whining. It was the same story every week, boisterous Owen Grady incapable to keep himself quiet in her desired study space. 

‘You know why,’ She brushed him off. Truth be told, she liked the lower floors, they were quiet because they had to be, but also because no one else slipped that far into the library. The back corner was hidden behind locked shelves of historical art, allowed to be viewed upon appointment only. The windows were high, legs passing way above their heads as they talked in hushed voices. They were far from the stairwells and elevators, Claire felt at her most comfortable there. 

‘How’d economics go?’ Claire asked, watching Owen over the rim of her glasses as she took a sip of the drink he bought her. He had a bag of pastries in her hand by the time Claire righted the cap on her bottle and looked back toward him. 

Owen groaned, depositing the food and searching desperately for the notebook in his bag. ‘You told me it was an easy pass,’ His tone was accusatory, his glare playful. All he wanted was an easy pass, a bulge subject he could attend and gain a good mark without effort. He should have known better than to listen to a business major. ‘Collins has set this _huge_ assignment for tomorrow and - God,’ He scrubbed a hand across his face in frustration, eyes squeezed closed. A few students in their small nooks threw him a precautionary glare for being louder than necessary. ‘I still don’t fucking understand a word of this shit.’ 

It was Claire’s hand on his that caused his heart to skip a beat, kind blue eyes blinking at him softly. ‘I’ll help you study.’ She offered easily, Owen passing her up on the kind offer. The last thing he wanted to do was study. He knew she didn’t mind. Claire never seemed to mind, especially when it concerned studying. 

‘You’ve got better things to do.’ 

Claire shrugged, biting her lip, ‘Not really. Besides, I’ve done the class already. I know what you need to know.’ She grinned, promising him for the second time that she really didn’t have anything better to do with her day. She was studying anyway, why not help a friend. 

Owen was convinced he was bothering her. Although that thought picked at the back of his thoughts, and had done for three years, he couldn’t seem to step away. He classed it as fate, his and Claire’s meeting. It was the first lecture of their senior year, and like an idiot he forgot a pen. Claire seated in front of him, eager and fresh faced, only eighteen got the not so subtle tap on the shoulder, and his pleading green eyes. Begrudgingly she handed him a pen. 

That was that, as he liked to say. They’d been thick as thieves ever since. She was his conscious, the inner voice in his head that said _Study Grady or you’ll be stuck here forever_. He still rarely studied. Owen was lucky if his assignments were even handed in on time. 

She was always there, regardless of the time or short notice. Sitting cross legged on his living room floor, or with her books scattered across the kitchen counter. Claire never failed to make herself at home, and for a very good reason, Owen couldn’t see himself surviving without her.

Closing her laptop Claire focused on Owen. He stared at her, green eyes wide with her sudden attention. She wasn’t huge with eye contact, something he noticed very early on. She could talk until the sun and moon switched positions, but rarely would she look him in the eye. 

Uncomfortable, she tucked a strand of short red hair behind her ear, eyes diverting to her notebook. ‘Do you, ah - do you have Collins’ criteria on you?’ He swallowed quickly before nodding, diving back into his bag in search of the slip of paper he knew he threw in there somewhere. 

Economics seemed straightforward coming from Claire’s lips. Owen supposed her mind worked differently, she’d learnt this all before, reading his handouts were only reaffirming the things she knew for certain. 

He watched her brain tick as she scribbled in her notebook, writing her own notes for him to use. It always felt a little like taking advantage of her brain. Claire understood what Owen didn’t, and also knew how he learnt. She managed to condense and entire chapter of his textbooks into simple sentences that spoke volumes. 

He needed to start paying her. 

He certainly didn’t deserve her. 

Owen wondered what she saw in him. She was too pretty for her own good, although he had learnt quickly that she didn’t care much for looks. Everything was about getting through college, finishing her internship and hopefully snagging a top job right after graduation. He doubted he’d ever see her again after that. 

Claire certainly never hung around for his company. She had a few good friends on campus, not much, but enough that she could count them all on one hand. Each as brilliant and brave as she was, although Owen was bias - Claire always came out on top. 

He was just that pesky student, slack from the beginning, who bugged her lecture after lecture, and eventually in their shared tutorial - when he showed up. They were forced together on a group assignment and suddenly the animosity between them dissolved, evening out to a smooth partnership.

Except it wasn’t really a partnership when you pined after the other half - right? He swore he was in love with her. Owen didn’t have anything to compare it too, but he was sure. His heart skipped a beat every time he so much as thought about her. 

He didn’t think she felt the same. They were friends. Good friends. If she felt any different he would have known by now - they’d known each other for so long. Maybe she was waiting for him to make the first move. They were young, and dumb, and scared. Neither of them really knew how to do this properly. Not for the long haul. Not for someone as important as Claire. 

‘You’re staring at me again,’ She broke through his thoughts, her simple statement about how much he’d enjoy behavioural economics if he just sat down in the psychology of it, had washed away completely. 

Owen blinked. ‘Yeah, ah, sorry.’ His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, his cheeks suddenly warm as he offered her a cheesey grin. Owen’s heart leaped in his chest, ‘I like you’. He told her on a quiet breath. 

Her voice was soft when she responded, ‘I noticed’. 

Owen shook his head, ‘No, I _really_ like you’. He blinked awkwardly, half cringing in preparation of her rejection. He was capable of getting up out of his seat and leaving before his heart shattered into a million pieces. He was ready. She could keep his note books. 

Claire watched him, small smile tickling its way up her cheeks, each corner climbing higher. He couldn’t help but stare at her, caught in her somewhat dorky look - oversized tortoise shell glasses, and thick mustard yellow sweater. She giggled, her eyes locked with his, connection unwavering. _‘I know’._

She was inching closer as he stared at her, compelled. He couldn’t tell if her knowing was good or bad, her reaction only glee. Claire had an odd sense of humour, he didn’t think this would count. 

He looked at her, _actually_ looked, caught deep in her blue eyes as the next question drifted from him. ‘Can I kiss you?’ He’d lost his voice, the whisper barely there. 

Shifting in her chair, Claire nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her eyes flickered from his to his lips. Owen didn’t wait any longer, he swooped in softly, hands cupping her cheeks as he took her bottom lip between his own teeth, pulling it free. 


	92. #92 - Grandmother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: do write more Heather Grady! maybe Owen and Claire go to visit and tell her Claire’s pregnant? :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in my breaks, in my classes, on the bus, and on the train this afternoon. Which, also comes with the warning of: posts may be far and few between. It’s my first week back at Uni and I am already behind. Clawen is my last priority. Prompts are still open, I just don’t know how long it will take me to fill them. Headcanons too. I’m always here for Bear (& Harris & Ella) or Charlie & Elliot headcanons. 
> 
> Please, please, don’t ask me when the next update is going to be. It’s only going to stress me out further. I can promise you, this fandom is always on my mind. I will try and post as much as I am able. 
> 
> Your love and support is always appreciated.

Her palm was sweaty against his. Claire was desperate to yank it away in order to wring her own hands around the other, heightening her stress. Owen squeezed her hand, pleasant little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Of course he was calm, Claire half brooded. It was his mother. Not hers. The unknown hid in every nook of his childhood.

He promised it would be okay. Claire believed him, of course she would. Owen was usually right, well, at least about the things she had little experience of. Mostly, when he said things were going to be okay, they had turned out how he had said. Claire was still waiting to cash in on a few of those promises, this one in particular. 

The front driveway of his mothers house seemed daunting in the early afternoon light. ‘We can still go home, right?’ She asked, tugging on his hand as she tried to back towards the rental car. Claire Dearing didn’t back away from anything. That woman had stood in front of a T-Rex and lured it out of her cage. Here she was, terrified of his mother. 

Owen chuckled, his humour light as he switched the hand that was holding hers just so he could wrap the other around her waist. His arms were strong, holding her tight and preventing the slow back step she was attempting. She pouted at him slightly, knowing all too well that she had to confront the issue they were out there to face. 

There were worse places to be in comparison to Saint Louis County. She’d eased into it softly, Owen in the drivers seat, his hand on the steering wheel pointed at oncoming buildings, old memories of his childhood flashing past them. His stories emptied out into the car, a Grady childhood pieced together - half the man he had become. 

‘It’s going to be okay,’ He told her for the twentieth time hand squeezing her hip. Claire was sure this would be the one time where everything would fall apart. She barely had a chance to refuse, to beg, hand curled against his chest, to see if they could do it another time. Despite their growing problem, there was no time. 

‘Owen?’ His mother’s voice called from the front door, her silhouette filling the space. Claire swallowed hard. The woman was off the porch and down her front steps in seconds, arms wrapped around her son tightly. ‘And you must be Claire, it’s so lovely to finally meet you.’ She turned after a second, giving Owen a last squeeze before moving to hug Claire. 

There was suggestion in the woman’s tone. They’d relocated several months ago, signed and approved that they could leave Costa Rica without needing to go back. As soon as they were settled Owen went to see his mother, while Claire stayed back. They didn’t have a reason then, there was no defining factor or impending timeframe they had to work with.

She had dragged her feet for weeks, insisting that they didn’t have to go - that they could put it off for a _little_ longer. It was a mix of dread, and an urge not to fly. Claire had been unwell for weeks, the thought of high altitude only made her stomach roll. ‘ _What? You wanna call her? Tell her over the phone? She’ll be on the first plane over here if you do it that way, and she’ll never leave.’_ He’d argued back with slight humour, watching the woman sulk in front of him. _‘You do realise you’re showing right?’_ He’d asked too, nodding his head to the slight protrusion in her clothes. It was only slight, enough to see it if you knew to look for it. Claire was convinced she still had time left for baggy clothes. _‘If we wait any longer to tell her, she’ll have our heads when she_ does _find out.’_

Heather Grady squeezed Claire’s arms tightly as she took a step back, looking over the woman with a critical eye. Claire felt guilty in a second. Owen’s mother wasn’t an idiot, and she’d had three kids. Claire had no doubt that she would out her without batting an eye. She wanted to give into her guilt, put a hand on her stomach protectively, a position she had unknowingly grown comfortable with. Heather clicked her tongue. ‘You’re too thin!’ Claire laughed awkwardly, despite the fact that she had already put on an extra ten pounds since she found out she was pregnant. ‘Do you feed the girl?’ Heather teased, smacking her son in the arm. 

Claire let out a small sigh of relief, as Heather ushered them inside. Her heart rate evened out as Owen rolled his eyes over his mother’s head, as the woman chastised him for evidently never listening to her.

Making up for her son’s easy misgivings, Heather plated copious amounts of food for Claire, who barely touched a thing. She was trying her best not to appear rude, but not eating was better than her upset stomach. Despite moving out of the first trimester and saying goodbye to morning sickness, Claire was still queasy in certain situations. 

Owen rolled his eyes when Heather got up to fetch the photo albums, even though he had instigated the activity. She squished herself between them, albums scattered in front of them, Heather telling three different stories at once. 

He was a cute kid, or so she had gleaned from his baby pictures, toddler Owen running around in a diaper, making his mother’s life blissful hell. Their child, whomever they were, was undeniably destined for adorable genetics. Heather told them tales of her first born, Owen’s easy charm with his mother, and complete strangers on the street and his laid-back attitude.

Claire had fears. Lots of them, more than what she could count on two hands. The idea of having a child, regardless of her circumstances, was enough to give her nightmares. She was still fighting off the nightmares that still lay etched in her mind after Jurassic World. Claire didn’t need anymore. Listening to Heather talk, doting on old memories of her now grown son, soothed an impatient fear in the back of Claire’s mind. 

She wasn’t aware of how or when, but Heather had moved on. The pictures were semi recent, the quality improved. ‘And this,’ Heather started, ‘Is my grand-baby, Olivia’. Her smile was megawatt, enough to bottle and power a whole city. The girl in the picture was about three, wide eyes and cubby cheeks. She boasted about her granddaughter for a little, flipping pages back and forth, telling stories of the child’s youth in a nonlinear fashion. 

‘There it is,’ Heather stopped on a picture. It was recent, the woman recounting sometime around the last Easter. It was Owen, in all his glory, grinning for the camera in autumn light, his niece on his hip, mirroring his smile.

Claire hadn’t realised that she spoke until Heather was peering at her with inquisitive green eyes, Owen behind her nodding with fierce encouragement. ‘What was that, dear?’ Heather asked, worry forming a knot in her brow. 

She blamed the picture. It had to be. The stories of his childhood, followed by Heather graciously boasting about her granddaughter, just as any doting grandparent would. The words sort of … fell out. 

‘I’m pregnant,’ Claire whispered, unable to raise her voice any higher than a frightened squeak. This wasn’t investors and corporate offices. This was family. Something she hadn’t known for so long, it had become synonymous with reluctancy and fear. There was no more park to hide behind. No more giving her nephew’s express passes to Jurassic World and empty promises that she would see them for dinner. This was her daughter. She would be there, she had to be. Owen had tried to ease her into the idea, with half filled promises, that it would all be easy and somewhat magical. The growing disbelief, morphed with happiness on Heather’s face, solidified his promises as correct. 

Heather looked between them both, her green eyes searching her son’s beaming face, to Claire’s awkward smile. Claire couldn’t prevent the flood that erupted from her when Heather jumped up to embrace her tightly. Claire was yet to receive a response like that. When she told Owen she was pregnant she pushed him away. Karen found out over the phone. Her own parents were long dead, and here was this woman, who barely knew her more than the stories Owen had shared, an a select number of hours together. No one had hugged her yet. 

She spilled her secrets as Heather comforted her. The woman stroking her hair as Claire apologised for her emotions. Owen received a swift smack over the back of the head, when Claire managed to blubber out that she was six-and-a-half months pregnant. The smack was harder when she realised they knew the gender, too. 

‘I have you two all weekend, don’t I?’ Heather asked, handing Claire a tissue and squeezing her shoulder. Claire nodded softly as she wiped at her cheeks. ‘Good. Can we shop?’ She asked with an eager spark in her eye. Claire smiled, wet eyelashes fluttering. 

‘Of course,’

‘I’m not mad at you,’ Heather told her, ‘In case you’re worried’. She looked to both of them, Owen sitting beside Claire now, digging through her bag in search of the latest sonogram they’d shoved in there. ‘He however should’ve know better,’ Heather threw Owen a pointed glare for affect. They were adults, she understood they had their reasons, and ultimately respected the fact that her son chose to stand by Claire’s decision until she was comfortable. Owen had told her enough about Claire Dearing to know the woman was a little flighty when it came to the idea of family. 

‘It’s a girl, grandma!’ Owen exclaimed, proudly handing over the sonogram he’d procured from Claire’s bag. Heather stopped, she grinned, giddy like a small child with a new toy. 

‘I’m keeping this,’ She told them as she ran her fingers over it before tucking it into her photo album for Olivia. She would start a new one, already excited for the impending child. She hugged Claire again, kissing the woman’s temple in a motherly act of affection before she quietly welcomed her to the family. 


	93. #93 - Overrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: I’d love to see an exploration of Owen’s “humans are an overrated species”. Maybe Claire discovering Owen’s dark sides?

The lights were low, seeping in from the street through open windows, bathing them both in murky light. Her hands were still shaking, her chest still moving out of time. They were sitting in the aftershocks of joint nightmares, cradled in the darkness, and relief that they were both awake. 

‘When we were out there,’ Claire started, body shifting on the bed’s mattress as Owen watched her from the love-seat directly opposite the bed. She didn’t have to specify where they had been, Isla Nublar’s jungle still pressed into the soles of their feet. ‘You said,’ She stopped to think, trying to remember the words, ‘“Humans are an overrated species”, what did you mean?’ Her voice was quiet in the dark, reaching out of him, barely making it. 

Owen sighed, legs stretching out on front of him as he locked his arms over the back of his neck. He was glad she couldn’t see the conflict on his face. Unable to display to her fully, the extent of his ordeals. 

‘In the Navy,’ He began, ‘You’re unwillingly enrolled in a lesson of human nature. You witness first hand what people will do to one another under the influence of everyone else. People call - called - me crazy for working with Velociraptors. At least with them, I knew they would kill me on blood instinct, not because some convoluted asshole demanded it, in exchange for their lives. Everything with animals is basic instinct, no manipulation. Humans - they’re too complicated … too messy.’

He was so used to watching people be controlled by others, mass destruction at the hands of corrupt political leaders, fighting wars that were not his own, his father and grandfather doing the same. He held too much hope in society as a young boy, and had it all come crashing down around his head. 

It was a lot easier to say away from people, and keep to animal behaviour. At least that seemed to make more scientific sense in his head. 

‘I don’t know, we’re raised on “it takes a village” and “find a sweet girl” or “a nice husband”. It doesn’t work, we’re all too busy criticising each other to actually help. We’re supposed to be in it together, and no one is really there. Everything’s too fake, and the experience isn’t enough. People are never who they say they are.’ 

‘I’d like to think I’m exactly who I say I am,’ Claire responded, still quiet in the dark. 

Owen chuckled. ‘You’re a lot nicer than what you let people believe, Claire.’ She mumbled something back at him, disbelief in his words, enough to evoke a heart felt response. Claire let her staff believe she was cold hearted and aloof, but deep down she cared about every single staff member in the Control room. She was funny, and bright, she knew when to kick back - but she never allowed any of these things to bee seen by the people she worked with. Instead she allowed horrible names to be spread about her, not bothering to defend them once. ‘You are so gentle and get so strong - so much so that you think mixing the two will make you weak. It won’t.’ The same could be said for him. ‘I think that’s what I love about you - there’s a vulnerability there that you guard so fiercely you must suffocate.’

She shifted but didn’t speak. Owen got up from his place on the love seat to move toward her, perching on the end of the hotel bed. ‘None of us are who we say we are, because we don’t realise all the pent up _shit_ we hide. Hidden behind closed doors we’re half of the human our parents raised, and only a small portion of our true selves. You hide behind the ice queen and I hide behind the cocky bravado.’

Claire knew it was true. She wasn’t as cold hearted as everyone believed, and he had some tender moments when he wasn’t too busy stroking the possessive role of alpha. That _was_ who he was. Act or not. 

‘I just don’t trust people, Claire. They rarely ever come out on top.’ All he had to do was point to Hoskins for the day before. The ignorant man causing more harm than good.

She reached for him in the dark, small hand finding his knee as she squeezed. ‘What about “for survuval”?’ They were both quiet for a second. ‘Because, Owen, I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not lying about who I am. I’m petrified, of what’s going to happen when I close my eyes, and when I’m called upon. I can’t do this by myself.’ 

His hand fell on top of hers, squeezing her back. ‘Nah,’ He sighed, ‘You’re an exception to the rule’. 


	94. #94 - Discomfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy, cuddly, pregnant Claire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do a cuddly, sleepy pregnant Claire. It really hasn’t worked for some reason. But, here, have it anyway.

She crawled into bed on all fours, plopping down beside him with a small pout. Owen reached out, thumb tracing a line across her bottom lip. ‘What’s wrong?’ If her pout hadn’t given away discomfort, the way she settled in beside him did. 

Claire shook her head, letting it fall to his shoulder, as she took his arm captive, wrapping herself around it. ‘Just sore,’ She kissed his bicep, peering over the muscle to read the open book in his lap. He closed the page, discarding the paperback to the nightstand, before dropping his hand to the swell of her stomach.

‘Oi, leave your Ma alone.’ Owen gruffed, thumb stroking lines against her shirt. At four months, she was starting to develop a noticeable baby bump. Not much of one, but enough that Owen could cup the curve of her abdomen. 

Claire chuckled, rolling her forehead against his shoulder. ‘That’s it, you’ve cured me. Backaches be gone!’ She was starting to regret the offer she turned down, a pregnancy yoga class with a co-worker. It might have helped. Now she wouldn’t know. 

His pattern changed, eyes caught on the way she fit against him. ‘My boy knows better than to cause his Ma strife.’ Owen laughed into her hair, offering a back rub as he kissed the top of her ear.The gender game was something he played with back and forth. Assigning a gender to a scenario. He decided their daughter would be an unstoppable force, their son quiet and calm. Until he knew for certain he would jump in-between the two, Claire amused with his soft indecision. 

Claire let go of his arm, allowing Owen to move it so she could press herself to him a little tighter. ‘I just want to cuddle.’ She whispered against his shoulder, dropping a delicate kiss before she shifted, her back to him.

He took a second to take his thumbs to the back of her hips, knowing most of her discomfort rested there. Claire grumbled, pushing back against his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ He apologised, pulling her toward him his lips on her shoulder. 

She mumbled something back in response. He should be sorry. It was his child growing in her belly, her body stretching and redefining itself for him. For _them._ She was promised a sweet reward in the end, or so Owen had said. 

Claire settled against his chest, each of his ribs fitting between hers. Claire sighed, heavy and happy, her discomfort abated for the meantime as Owen wrapped his arms around her. ‘Better?’ He asked quietly as she pulled his arms around her tighter. Claire hummed, tone noticeably sleepy.He lay still, not wanting to disturb the peace she found. They’d been on a shortage of comfortable nights, Owen feared it would only get worse. He let her sleep when she managed to drift off, despite the fact that his book was reaching the climax, the story unravelling at it’s peak. 

He was a selfless man. His small pleasures were taken from tiny, fleeting moments. Memories that would be replaced with their newborn once they arrived. For now, there was nothing he loved more than pregnant, drowsy Claire, seeking him out for comfort were she would usually have suffered in silence. 

Owen slid a hand away from her grasp, leaving it to rest against her hip, lazy circles tracing themselves amongst figure eights as he listened to her breathing shift and change. 


	95. #95 - Charlie and the Motorbike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can you make a fic of the time Charlie scratched Owen's engine?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from a headcanon that was submitted over on my tumblr. You can find it here: http://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/140889991743/whats-the-naughtiest-thing-charlie-has-ever-done

It was a summery afternoon. The air crisp with warm childhood memories, the garage door rolled open, the sounds of sprinklers ticking along the street. The little girl sat at his feet, ears keenly listening out for the ice-cream truck that had a habit of coming close - but never quite reaching their street.

She was talking to him - mostly herself - a mix of real words and baby dribble. Their lazy Saturday afternoon had been set, Claire popping her head in, on the reminder that Charlie would need a nap. ‘Hear that, baby girl, nap at three.’ He told her with a mock warning tone. 

‘Nope.’ The two-year-old shook her head, red curls flying as she giggled, overalls already stained with grease. He elected not to fight with her. She would refuse sleep, regardless of if they argued about it now or not. 

Owen flicked on the radio, his favourite station already on, the commercial promising non stop rock hits all summer. Charlie bopped on the floor, instantly recognising the song that had begun to play. Owen beamed, watching her for a second before he turned to his bike.

‘I helping!’ Charlie jumped at him, ready for Owen’s command. She’d always been good at helping. Even before she could actually help. It was more the companionship. Owen would leave Charlie in her jumper, asleep in the corner of the garage as he tinkered for the afternoon. Just as Claire would lie her on a blanket in the garden, as she attempted to fix themselves a veggie patch. 

‘What do we need to do first, Charlie-Bear?’ Owen asked her, watching green eyes flash. 

‘Drive!’ She exclaimed loudly, hands in the air, excitement on her face. 

Owen laughed, his head shaking as he dropped a humoured ‘no’ on her. ‘She’s broken, remember.’Charlie nodded, bottom lip pouting as she sighed. She reached out with a little hand to pet the bike, like her parents would pat her back when she was upset. 

They were minutes into their tinkering, Owen loosening bolts as he contemplated the ins and outs of a good polish when his phone started to ring. He sat the wrench on stained concrete, as he pulled the device out from the back pocket of his jeans. It two twenty seconds for Owen to turn his back, launching into conversation with Barry before Charlie picked up the wrench and connected it with his bike. 

He couldn’t place what sound hurt the most. The resounding thud of metal on metal, a promised dint, or the light, high pitched screeching of his wrench dragged across the body of his engine that followed. His heart leapt into his throat, dread settling in his gut.

‘Charlie!’ Her name was a rough shout, the same warning tone he gave her at the zoo, or when she was teetering on the edge of falling off the kitchen counter. Owen hung up on Barry with a short excuse and promise to call him back. He turned slowly, body rigid, terrified to look at what had caused the noise. His little daughter was standing beside the bike, wrench in her hand, nothing but solid fear on her face. 

He second his eyes landed on her, Charlie flinched before she erupted in tears. Owen’s expression softened as he reached for her. He hadn’t even looked at the bike, was too scared to see if there was damage. First and foremost, his concern lay with Charlie. 

She ran, when he reached for her, turned on the spot, and bolted for the door. Terrified of his own fear, and half brewed anger. He had barely expressed it, and certainly wasn’t intending to unload it on her. Charlie may have caused the damage - if there was any - she was two, and prone to making mistakes. They had crayon on the walls to prove it. 

He thew a glance towards his bike, before he chased after his daughter. 

Charlie was tucked into Claire’s lap, whimpering softly into her mother’s neck. Claire brushed the hair back from the little girl’s face as she asked over and over what had happened. ‘Oopsy,’ She told her mother, hands coiled in Claire’s shirt. 

She looked to Owen for an answer, as the man crouched down beside them, his eyes apologetic. ‘My bike,’ He told Claire simply, hand reaching out to touch Charlie’s back. The girl tensed. ‘Charlie, don’t be silly. You’re not in trouble.’ She turned her head, peering at him from Claire’s shoulder, not completely convinced that she wouldn’t get yelled at. 

He extended his arms for the girl, asking her silently for a hug. Charlie watched him for a second, her little fists unfurling from her mother’s shirt, before tightening her grip. Claire encouraged her, knuckles running up and down Charlie’s spine as she whispered in her ear. After a moment, Charlie slipped from Claire’s lap, and fell easily into Owens. The tears on her cheeks were dry, but the upset was still shining in her eyes. 

‘Are you okay?’ He asked the girl first, kissing the top of her head. Charlie nodded. ‘Good.’ He kissed her cheek, blowing a soft raspberry in order to make her giggle. ‘Did you scratch my bike?’ She nodded again, slowly. Charlie told him on one word that it was an accident. Owen already knew that. ‘Accident’s happen sometimes. That’s okay. I’m not angry with you, Charlie-Bear. But I’m a bit sad.’ She petted his cheek, like she had done to the bike, encouraging a gentle _there, there_. ‘Maybe next time we won’t leave the tools near Daddy’s bike.’ Charlie echoed the good idea, promising too, that she didn’t need to use tools no more. 

They agreed quietly, Owen peppering her cheeks with kisses as Claire suggested they put their tinkering down for the day and retire to the park for an early lunch. Owen was all too pleased for the distraction, the slight shimmer of a long, wobbly scratch on his bike a little too maddening for the moment. 

Claire kissed his cheek, promising quietly that it could be fixed … if his bike wasn’t as much of a lost cause as he thought it was. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He held her for a second, lips pressed to her neck softly as he hummed, soaking her in before letting her go. 

‘Let’s go!’ Charlie cheered from the door, jumping up and down with her hand on the doorknob. He smiled, watching her as she waited for them impatiently, Claire telling the girl to wait - she had to find her shoes. Things went missing in their home, there was crayon on the walls, and paint stained into the floorboards. His bike now had an impressive dint, and scratch to match. And yet, Owen wouldn’t trade any of it. Not a single lost second as he tried to track down his missing key’s, Charlie giggling behind him. 

Their home house their boisterous and lively daughter. Charlie, even at two, knew how to make her mark. 


	96. #96 - Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> claiiredearing: “i still have your sister’s scarf and i know it’s stupid but i’ve been hoping maybe one day you come by and pick it up so we’ll be forced to talk again because i haven’t seen you in months and i’m maybe kinda sorta still in love with you” AU

 

He didn’t know where the courage came from. Or the idea really. It’d been months, the strip of fabric practically living on his coffee table. It wasn’t like the thing had just turned up. It had been breathing in his space, practically living, for close to a year. 

He shouldn’t have called her and most of all, he shouldn’t have left a message on her machine. The scarf daunted him, the item leering at him - if it could leer. It had been Karen’s. Borrowed one chilly fall when he and Claire ventured to Madison. She practically stole it, not realising the accessory had been packed into her suitcase until they were home, unpacking. 

She never retuned it, and in turn, it remained stuffed in the back of their once shared closet - now his alone - until he found it a few short weeks after she moved out. He should have called her then. She never would have collected it, might have just suggested he FedEx it to Karen - which was something else he didn’t need to wait this long to do. 

Dread settled low in his belly, building up guilt. He really shouldn’t have called her. Owen couldn’t help himself, and he knew it. Once the idea was in his head there was no shaking it loose. He needed to call her, he’d been looking for excuses for weeks, and failing with each one, terrified that they were pathetic enough to annoy her. The scarf was pathetic. He almost didn’t care. 

Slouched on the couch, beer in hand, scarf on the coffee table. He glared at the ball of fabric, willing it to disappear before retracting the thought; terrified that it might. He watched it, half pretending that he wasn’t, as some cooking show flashed across his screen. Owen wasn’t watching, he never usually was. Too caught up in his head to notice anything. 

Barry told him he was pathetic. Owen didn’t disagree. She moved out four months ago and he was still hung up on her. Still caught on phantom clouds of her perfume, still waking in the middle of the night, panicked to find himself not wrapped around her. His heart still leapt at the sight of their - his - half empty wardrobe. 

He let the scarf haunt him when he found it. The strip of fabric jumping from surface to surface in his modest apartment. It echoed with the sounds of Claire’s laughter and the feel of her freezing hands against his skin. Retracing the memories of that weekend across his frontal lobe, keeping itself at the forefront of his cognitive processes. 

He was a mess.

The scarf was found only two weeks after Claire left. It took him fourteen weeks to call her. Fourteen weeks of weak courage, picking up the phone only to put it back down again. So long that he shouldn’t have left the somewhat meek and desperate message on her machine … he should have just hung up. 

His door rattled, the sound of someone’s steady knock reverberating around the living room. His heart jumped, pounding in his chest as he pulled himself up and toward the door. Even though he had called, he wasn’t expecting her. Owen wouldn’t have blamed Claire if she never spoke to him again, not even a text. He never dreamed of seeing her in front of him again. 

There she was her height almost squaring off with his in a six inch heels. Her face soft, her hair longer than he had remembered, touching her shoulders and rolling forward, her bangs still neatly kept. Owen couldn’t find the words to greet her, he only stared, soaking in every detail. Despite the make up on her face, he could still make out the freckles that coated her cheeks and nose. His heart took a crash landing, plummeting to the pit of his stomach and setting itself alight. He couldn’t breath. 

‘Hi,’ She whispered, clearly uncomfortable in his scrutiny. But, she had watched him too. He caught her eyes skating over him, tracing the outline of his shoulders and down his ribs. Owen almost choked on his breath. 

Nervously, her scratched a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Ah, hey,’ He tried for causal, and ended up sounding as terrified as she looked. 

‘You have my sister’s scarf?’ Claire asked, nudging the conversation in the right direction. Seeking purpose when she could so easily get lost. Owen nodded quickly, removing his hand from his neck, and stepping aside to let her in. 

He didn’t know if she would take the offer. If she would step into their old home, or if she would wait in the hall, collect the scarf and go. Owen saw it as a good sign when she stepped in, heading straight for the living room without hesitation. She saw the scarf on the table, but didn’t move for it. He did, unsure of what to do. Owen handed it to her, arm outstretched. Claire blinked at the scarf for a second, just staring before she took it from his hand gently, her fingernails barely touching his palm. 

‘I miss you,’ Owen breathed, quickly collecting himself before anything else would slip out. He missed her. He _loved_ her. He was still a little torn at why she had left. And even though Barry tried to get him to move on, nothing compared to Claire Dearing. 

She blinked at him, like she had blinked at her sister’s scarf. There was peace on her face, the gentle movement of her eyelashes as she thought for a second before she nodded. ‘I miss you too,’ The words were quiet, barely there if he wasn’t hold his breath in half flung hope that she would say it back. Now that she had. He didn’t know what to do. 

He watched her. Studying the lines of her face, like he would never see her again. She watched him back, wringing the scarf around her hands, too scared to move. It was Claire who left. Packed up her things in an almost wild flurry before explaining to him that she had to go while making it very clear that they were over. 

She didn’t go very far. But, she was gone. She had ripped a hole in his heart, it never healed properly. 

Owen stepped towards her, one slow step at a time, approaching her like he would a wild animal. Claire didn’t move away, her eyes locked to his the whole time. ‘I’m going to kiss you,’ Owen told her, barely an inch away, giving Claire the out she needed. 

She didn’t take it, only licked her lips and nodded cautiously. Owen didn’t hesitate. He pressed his lips to hers softly, the touch so gentle he wasn’t sure if he was kissing her or not. It only took a second for the kiss to grow fierce, teeth catching lips, tongues fighting for dominance. Claire’s hands landed on his chest, pushing back against him as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth.

He whimpered against her, unafraid of the sound, the need. It didn’t stop her from clinging to him like he was the only water source in a vast desert. She took command of their lip lock until Owen slipped his hands under her tights and lifted her. Claire’s legs automatically locked around his waist, holding on tight as she squeaked slightly. He was halfway to depositing her on the kitchen counter when she pulled away, her hands firm on his shoulders. 

‘Shit, Claire. I’m - I’m sorry.’ He apologised quickly, letting her stand on her own two feet as he stepped away from her, putting the distance between the two of them.

Claire shook her head, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. ‘I’m miserable without you,’ Her secrets spilt from her lips, tumbling to the carpet at her feet. She was terrified of loosing him. So scared their relationship would fall apart, that she left. It wasn’t her most defining moment. She let them drift into silence. Owen left confused in her wake, uncertain as to whether he could contact her or not. ‘I should have called,’ She stumbled, ashamed with herself for letting things die. ‘I should have come back.’ 

Owen shrugged, ‘You know, it would have been nice’. He echoed his _I miss you_ from earlier. Letting it sit between them as he fought back the urge to kiss her. He didn’t understand what was going on. She missed him too. She made a mistake in leaving. ‘Do you want to come back?’ She could, if she wanted too. His life sat in limbo after she left, nothing had changed, it would take no adjustment. Claire could have her space in the wardrobe back, the book shelves, her side of the bed, his clothing she loved to wear. It was already there waiting for her. 

He watched her sink her teeth into her bottom lip, thoughts eating her alive. He wanted to take her into his arms and pry her lip from her teeth, save her the pain of her thoughts and kiss her senseless. Claire needed to say the words. ‘I really want to come home.’ 

Owen moved first, invading her personal space in one large step as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up again. Claire complied easily, legs locking around his hips, hands on his shoulders, forehead on his. 

Karen’s scarf was wrapped around Claire’s hand, tapping Owen’s shoulder as she carded her hands through his hair, peppering sweet kisses across his face and short promises that she was there to stay. 

If he had know it would have lead to this; Claire back in his arms. Owen would have used the scarf as an excuse to call her much sooner.


	97. #97 - Man Flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen gets terribly sick and Claire decides to make the big decision to take a week off from work to take care of him at home.

 

‘You’ve got everything that you need right here.’ Claire told him, checking over the small set up she’d left on the bedside table. He was sick. A common case of _the man flu_. Owen had bed ridden himself, incapable of going to work, and barely existing. Claire had only rolled her eyes, expecting as much when he started to sniffle the day before. ‘Don’t enjoy your day off, too much.’ She told him with a fond smile, as Owen pouted, his arms snaking around her legs as he lay on the bed beside her.

‘I won’t enjoy it at all.’ His pout grew deeper as his grip grew tighter. Claire rolled her eyes, standing beside the bed she was trapped, her balance unstable as Owen’s hold pressed to the back of her knees. 

Claire sighed, fingers pressing into the bedside table in an attempt to keep herself upright. ‘I have to go to work.’ He whimpered at her like a small child, his face pressed against her thighs as his grip refused to loosen. 

He wanted her to stay. She wanted to. Claire worried about her husband when he was sick, the man stooping to the pathetic of a young child eager for comfort. She turned her head toward the window. The sky was dark with storm clouds, the glass wet with rain. 

It was that time of year. Everyone started to smell like eucalyptus, their eyes puffy, noses red. She’d fly under the radar without a second thought. ‘Fine.’ She groaned, succumbing to his simplistic need for comfort. Owen tugged on her legs, attempting weakly, to pull her down on the bed. Claire protested. Owen whined. She still needed to call her assistant to let the woman know she was _ill_. 

Claire had to pry herself from Owen’s grip just so she could seek out her phone, by the front door. She returned to their bedroom with her schedule cleared for the afternoon, her assistant promising everything was under control. 

She slipped into something more comfortable. Leggings and a shirt of Owen’s.Laptop in hand, Claire settled beside him, precariously trying not to disturb the sleeping man. He stirred anyway. His slumber not lasting any longer than five minutes. He likely wasn’t even asleep at all. He shifted, curling himself towards her in order to wrap his arm around her thigh. 

Claire watched him, her eyes peering over the top of her glasses, her legs crossed, laptop in her lap. She clicked her tongue, chuckling to herself a little as she traced a hand though his hair. ‘You’re ridiculous.’ He nodded, forehead burning against her leg. 

‘You love me,’ Owen told her softly, eyes closed, waiting for the tylenol to kick in. Claire hummed fondly, one hand in his hair, the other typing slowly at her keyboard. 

‘Unfortunately, that’s true.’ Claire laughed as she leant down to kiss his sweaty forehead. There was a teasing warning on her lips. ‘You get me sick, Grady, and I will kill you.’ She followed it with another fond kiss, her hand brushing his hair away from his face.

Owen only hummed in response, feeling the drowsiness trying to drag him under. His grip tightened on her leg momentarily before it loosened, the man set off into a deep slumber. Claire stuck beside him. 


	98. #98 - Loose Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @cometothedarkside-x: “Imagine Person A’s friend ambushing them with questions about Person B, and since Person A is engrossed in one of their hobbies, Person A goes on autopilot and starts answering questions honestly and immediately. Then, the questions get more risqué, but Person A doesn’t notice it, until something really NSFW is asked and they answer it immediately.
> 
> BONUS: Person B heard the whole thing.” From @otpprompts

 

Karen always had a way of getting information out of her sister. Claire was a good liar, it made the task hard. But, Karen was aware of a weakness her sister hadn’t managed to conceal, purely because she never noticed. Claire got distracted, easily, focusing on work, or organising whatever needed to be organised. When her hands were busy, fingers typing, pencil scratching, her mind tended to run a little stray. The prison on her mind shut down. Her mouth and brain free to stray. 

It felt a little like manipulating her baby sister. Taking information Claire wasn’t always willing to share. How could Karen possibly do her job if Claire never told her anything. 

Her visit to San Diego was a potential gold mine of information. Karen’s divorce was somewhat settled, Scott in the least being a tad bit kinder after the incident that could have potentially seen their sons dead. Scott watched the kids, and Karen watched Claire. 

It was no surprise that her sister was working, and wouldn’t stop despite the guest. In most cases, Karen would be annoyed. For the first time, she wasn’t. ‘How’re you doing, Claire-Bear?’ Karen asked, reverting to the childhood nickname as she settled herself on a bench stool. She’d already asked the question, a million times before in the weeks and now months that had passed since Jurassic World. 

Claire hummed an easy ‘ _Good_ ’. This time a lot more believable than what it had been weeks ago. Karen could see Claire for herself, the gentle smile on her clear skin, the worry fading from her eyes. It was easier to swallow with physical proof. Karen knew too, it had something to do with Owen. The man in question having ducked out to get them lunch. She wanted to know how much on an impact he was having on her baby sister’s life. 

‘And you and Owen, how’s that going?’ She pried gently, boring holes into the side of Claire’s face. Her sister hummed. Sometimes Karen managed full sentences out of her, entire rants, and other times she got nothing but an slight noise. ‘He still sleeping in the spare room?’ The room, when she arrived, looked like it hadn’t been inhabited in months. When Karen knew full well her sister had pushed Owen as far as she could, without kicking him out. There was a dependency, not that Claire wanted to admit it. Karen found it endearing. The man meant enough to her sister that Claire was scared of loosing him, either by taking things too far, or not letting him in. Owen seemed to not mind either way, so long as he could spend his time with Claire. He _loved_ her. He was willing to stay.

Claire shook her head, ‘He’s in my room’. Karen hummed, devilish grin slipping across her cheeks as she leant against the kitchen counter. 

‘But, like, on the floor or something? Are your nightmares still bothering you?’ Claire had called her one night, still caught in the throws of a nightmare, panic catching the air every time she tried to breathe. She wanted to check on the boys. Karen was more interested in her. Owen was away for the weekend, business or family, Karen couldn’t recall. Claire admitted easily that she was sleeping horribly without him around. She didn’t want to call and bother him while he was away. Karen scoffed. It was impossible for Claire to bother Owen. 

Despite not paying attention to her sister, Claire rolled her eyes, pushing her glasses up her nose a little further. ‘We sleep together.’ Karen bit back her laugh as she waited for Claire to embellish a little further. ‘You know,’ Her hand rolled in the air beside her head, letting her sister assume the rest. 

‘Oh, Claire-Bear, I have _no_ idea.’ Karen teased, rolling her eyes much as her sister had. She waited a beat. No response from Claire. ‘Are you _sleeping_ with him?’ She asked and Claire hummed, her head nodding slightly. ‘Claire Adelaide Dearing!’ She shrieked, unable to contain it. Glee overriding the right of passage Claire had denied her. They were supposed to _talk_ about things like this. Or, at least, they used to. When they were girls, sharing a bedroom and secrets in the dark. Simple crushes and first kisses, prom dates and getting to second base. It was the closest they had ever been. ‘I need details. Now.’ Just because her love life was in shambles didn’t mean she couldn’t live vicariously through her sister. Claire had it good. Claire had a God, an Adonis. 

‘I’m not telling you anything,’ Claire shook her head with a laugh. She turned from the mess of documents spread across the dining table, her computer screen no longer polarising against her glasses. Claire looked her sister in the eye, grinned and then crinkled her nose, freckles dancing. 

Karen rolled her hands into fists and tapped against the counter. ‘Oh, _come on_. You gotta give me something.’ She was giddy, practically over the moon, thankful that her sister found someone who made her cheeks flush. ‘At least tell me he’s good in bed. Please, for the love of god, tell me you’re satisfied.’ Karen was playing with an orange, plucking the fruit from the bowl on the counter and rolling it under her palm. If Claire asked later, not that she usually recalled, the questions pressed into the back of her mind. Karen would claim fear for her well being. After everything it would be a let down to find Owen lacked in a certain _important_ department. 

Claire didn’t bat an eyelash. Her cheeks flushed pink, and her bottom lip receded into her mouth, teeth sinking in. Claire sighed heavily, almost whimsical, ‘I’m _satisfied_. Trust me.’ 

‘That good, huh?’ Karen chuckled. She watched Claire jump between documents, worrying her lip between her teeth. 

Claire stopped. Paused. ‘Indescribable.’ Karen was on the verge of another question, curious to see how much lurid detail she could get out of her sister in one sitting. How far could she take it without Claire’s censor. She was interrupted, the question already slipping past her lips. Something intrusive, begging for details on how _well-endowed_ he was. Claire had answered, slight giggle in her answer. Owen cleared his throat, standing in the doorway holding the groceries and grinning. 

Claire jumped, hand flying to cover her mouth as she glared at her sister. ‘I swear, ever since we were kids she put a spell on me.’ She defended, moving to whack her sister in the arm. Karen was gripping tight to the kitchen counter, holding on for dear life as she laughed, rich sound tearing through her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. 

‘What?’ Karen shrugged, biding her time through fits of humour. ‘I need to make sure you’re being looked after.’ Claire moved to argue that she could look after herself just fine, when Owen winked at Karen and promised he had everything sorted. Her sister was in good hands. 


	99. #99 - Charlie, Elliot, and Easter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Charlie, Elliot, and Easter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Easter Bunny comes tomorrow. But, here have this now.

**** ‘I told you this was going to be a bad idea.’ Owen hummed, voice tinted with humour as he watched the frown deepen on his daughter’s face. Charlie Grady was not impressed. 

Easter was reserved for family. Much like Christmas was. They weren’t big on being out an about, a select few activities were attended for Charlie’s sake. All else was forgone. Their daughter was six, going on seventeen. No matter, she was enthralled with Easter and the promise of milky chocolates hidden in the grass. 

Charlie loved an Easter Egg Hunt almost as much as she loved her daddy.

Taking her to the local community hunt was a no brainer. In fact, why they hadn’t done it in previous years initially came off as puzzling. Once they got Charlie there, they quickly realised why. Charlie was impatient, and she _hated_ loosing. 

The San Diego Zoo on occasion ran an egg hunt on the long weekend. Charlie rarely partook, mainly because she and Owen were the ones who went and hid the eggs about the grounds. Maybe she loved that a little more than the actual hunt. Working for the Easter Bunny at least had it’s rewards. 

‘I don’t like this, one bit.’ Charlie grumbled, dragging her feet before she dropped down on the picnic blanket her parents had settled on. ‘Can we go to the zoo now?’ She asked, reaching for her drink bottle with a pout. Charlie had worried all morning that no one was there to put the eggs out for the kids, while her parents carted her away to another event. 

Owen smiled, bopping his daughter on her face painted nose. ‘We’re not going to the zoo today.’ Charlie’s face fell further, her eyes flicking between her father, and sister. Elliot, at eleven months old, was sooking beside Claire’s hip plush bunny being thrown through the air in her hand. ‘But, maybe it is time to go.’ He eyed the cranky infant, knowing they’d held her out long enough. There was a feeding scheduled in her day, and a nap, both of which had been missed for an afternoon in the sun. Claire nodded, thankfully, desperate to get out of the park before her daughter exploded in a full flung fit. ‘Where’d Nana go?’ Owen asked Charlie, the girl collecting her things eagerly. 

Charlie shrugged, ‘Maybe to buy me eggs to pretend she found them’. Owen shook his head, he wouldn’t put his mother past it. Heather was about ready to go to the ends of the earth for her granddaughters, even if that meant buying them chocolate eggs, because they couldn’t find any. Owen was readjusting the bunny ears on his daughter’s head, when his mother reappeared. Heather had Charlie’s easter basket in her hands and a soft grin on her lips. 

‘Look what I managed to find!’ She told Charlie excitedly, handing the basket over and letting the girl peer inside. It wasn’t full by any means, but it was enough for Charlie’s little grin. The girl knew what her grandmother had done, but didn’t mind in the least if she profited in the end. 

She grinned, thanking her grandmother with a squeal and a hug. ‘Nana,’ Charlie sighed, suddenly mournful. They all knew it was an act, the second the word slipped from her mouth. ‘I know you’re having fun. But, it’s time to go home.’ She tapped Heather’s arm, sighing but not completely inconvenienced. She had stolen the words from Owen, the action too. It echoed days where they had to leave the zoo early, kindergarten, and school. There had been a boring playdate or two ended in a similar way. Owen feigning another commitment in order to escape. Heather pouted, sighing with defeat back at the girl. ‘It sucks, I know. But, we’ve got things to do.’ Owen couldn’t help the laugh that barked that tickled his throat. ‘What?’ Charlie asked, ‘I got chocolate buns at home!’ 

Seemingly, she had missed the fact that they had packed the hot cross buns in a picnic basket for the egg hunt. Owen would have made her stay, especially when she tried to rush them all to the car. Charlie was eager to leave, desperate to leave the unfair hunt behind. If Elliot wasn’t having a fussy day, the infant on the verge of disaster, they would have spent the whole afternoon there, basking in the warm air and glorious sun. His daughters dictated every move, and today called for home. 

‘Can the Easter Bunny come every week?’ Charlie asked as Owen buckled her into her booster. She couldn’t manage to wait for home before she dug into the chocolates in her basket. Her cheeks were covered in sticky brown, her hands too. Owen pecked her nose, laughing as he pulled away. 

‘What would you do with all that chocolate, sweet girl?’ 

Charlie hummed, thoughtful. ‘Eat it!’ She squeaked. ‘And Elie’s too, ‘cause chocolate makes her tummy ouch.’ Owen nodded, bopping his daughter on the nose again as he told her she was correct. He pulled on her seatbelt, making sure it was secure. ‘More for me.’ She giggled, pouting as Owen took the basket from her. Charlie couldn’t be trusted not to eat every chocolate before they arrived home. ‘Daddy, next time can we not do this place? I like the zoo better.’ 

Claire chuckled beside him, ducked into the car in order to strap in a squirming Elliot. The girl started to squawk, and immediately stopped the second her mother offered her pacifier. ‘Wasn’t it nice doing something outside the zoo for a change?’ Claire asked, peering over at Charlie, trying not to think of the chocolate stains. 

Charlie shook her head. ‘I like the zoo much better. I know all the hide-y spots.’ Which was exactly why they were doing something different this year. Charlie wouldn’t budge. The zoo was her favourite place. Her sanctuary. Her home. She would go back time and time again. They were powerless to stop her. 

They left their children for a second, simultaneously closing car doors while they promised Heather they would see her at the house. ‘Hey, Charlie,’ Owen started, as he climbed in behind the wheel. ‘I think Stuart has an Easter surprise for Tango and Sierra. Would you like to go see them after lunch?’ He watched for her reaction in the rearview mirror, little eyes wide, cheeks still smeared with chocolate as she bobbed her head erratically. 


	100. #100 - I Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Could you write something about how Owen and Claire are a very loving couple but when Owen suddenly proposes to Claire she’s in shock and says ‘no’ when he pops the question because they have never talked about marriage before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at us. Here we are. One-hundred prompts. There are parts of me that can believe it. And parts of me that can not.
> 
> Thank you to everyone whose sent in a prompt. I still have heaps more to go. Everyone who leaves a comment or reblogs with amusing tags. Every like and kudos too. If it weren’t for those things we honestly wouldn’t be here. 
> 
> I’d like to say that every drabble in this collection is perfect. Some are not. Most are not. This started with me bored over the weekend, expecting maybe one or two prompts if I was lucky. This is a lot more than one or two. Wow.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about it. For some reason it had always been a very real possibility. Owen was about as subtle as a brick barreling through her window. He thought he kept it to himself. Aloof and disinterested, his cards held to his chest. Claire always knew his hand before he did. That was when she made her move. Or, in the least, allowed herself some time to think.

Claire’s dismissal felt so easy sliding past her lips. ‘Owen, _no.’_ She shook her head, hands on his shoulders. She felt mournful as she watched confusion flicker across his features before it settled in disappointment. She didn’t mean to upset him. He should have known that. God, he should have known her so much better than _that_. 

He changed his position, still on his knees, sitting back on his heels. Claire dropped to his lap easily. Arms twining around his neck. She felt him pull away, his face turned down, desperate to not look at her. ‘Owen,’ She breathed. It was the right thing. For her, anyway. He would not pull remorse or regret from her fickle heart. Clare wouldn’t allow it. She tapped his cheek, his chin, her thumb brushing against his bottom lip. ‘C’mon,’ She sighed. ‘Please don’t close me out.’ 

‘Close _you_ out?’ He scoffed, voice bitter. He hadn’t managed to push her off him yet. That was a plus. He could have, if he wanted too. All he had to do was apply pressure to her shoulders and she would have moved willingly. Better yet, he could have asked. Owen knew those things. ‘That’s rich.’ Claire rolled her eyes. _Yes, that’s rich. We get it_. 

‘I love you.’ She whispered against his skin, forehead pressed to his, stubbly cheek to her lips. Claire Dearing could count on one hand the number of times she had said those words to him. One hand. It wasn’t a lot. If he needed an argument, there it was. 

‘Claire,’ He warned. It was there she noticed he was holding her, his hands looped behind her back. Owen tightened his grip. ‘Please don’t.’ He looked away from her, head tearing toward the patio door. They were sat on the kitchen floor, midway through morning. Owen had decided then and there nothing was better. Claire half ready for her lazy Sunday. The orange juice was poured, her musli out on the counter, his toast in the toaster. She’d turned to fetch her yoghurt from the fridge, caught mid tangent about the shopping list. That was when he ruined it. 

‘What?’ She asked, irritating sparking in her tone. ‘I do.’ It was as easy as that. She loved him. Claire was just still learning how to say it. She peppered his cheeks with kisses, playfully avoiding his mouth as she followed a path down his neck.

His hands found her shoulders, palms flat. Claire knew the sign. ‘You won’t marry me.’ Her knee nudged the discarded box at his hip, lid now closed. She felt her cheeks flush, her own face turning towards their laps. Claire pulled away from him. Her hands dropped to her lap. She didn’t move _off_ him, her thighs remained flush with his. 

She wouldn’t marry him. Of course she wouldn’t. She could barely tell him she loved him in the privacy of their own home. What was he thinking, asking her to stand up in front of their nearest and dearest to promise him forever. That was a bigger deal than _I love you_. She did. Love him, that is. He was her sun and stars, the moon and the glistening ocean. They just weren’t there yet. He was. She was not. 

Claire could already see the future in his eyes. A bigger house, _children,_ a dog. She didn’t know what frightened her more. That Owen was it for her or that she might actually carry a child to term. He was wearing her down. She was terrified of the little critters. But there he was, in her ear, promising how great it would be. A bossy little girl, or a boy he could teach to surf. Her feet were firmly set in the ground. _Owen, no._

She didn’t mind the idea of a dog. 

‘I don’t need to marry you.’ She told him, rolling her eyes as she rolled her thumbs. ‘It’s not that important.’ Claire already knew that response was wrong. At least in his eyes. He tried to play himself off as cocky, arrogant, a man in need of no one. But he needed her. He needed to tie himself to someone or else he might burst. There was no purpose for Owen if he wasn’t co-inhabiting a life. First it was the Marines, then it was The Raptors. Now it was Claire. She didn’t doubt that his feelings were true or loyal. She just wished it wasn’t a _need_. 

‘It’s pretty important.’ He scoffed. He’d let go of her at some point. She couldn’t remember when. His hands were taunt behind him, arms holding up his weight as he lent back. His thumb was playing with the ring box but he didn’t look at it. She did. ‘You love me, but you won’t love me forever.’ He scoffed again. ‘I guess I should be glad you’re being honest. Better that than finding another man in my bed five years down the track.’ She recoiled at the comment, more hurt at the insinuation than anything else. Claire Dearing was loyal. Owen knew that. 

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Self loathing never looked good on him. Claire just about said as much. 

‘Get off me,’ Owen pushed at her hips trying to slide her onto the tile so he could break away. Claire listened. She pulled herself off him and stepped back. A scowl had etched itself across his face, marking lines in his features. He was stern. Claire traced his face with flighty green eyes, unsure on where to settle. ‘I get to be the stupid one.’ He gruffed, shoving the ring box back in his pocket as he moved away from her, heading for the door. 

Claire looked to the patio. The warm spring sun was settling across the grass, kissing her garden just the way she loved. There was their day. Done. 

‘Owen, please.’He raised his hands in the air, a sign for her to fall silent, his back to her. ‘Just because I said “no” doesn’t mean my feelings aren’t valid. I still have a say in this, Owen. I just don’t think we need to get married.’ She didn’t need to look at a calendar for the date. Claire knew. It’d been a little over two years since the Jurassic World incident. Two years. She stuck by his side from the second she asked for his help, to this very moment. 

They’d been through hell and back. She just needed them to go a little further. 

‘I do love you. So much it _frightens_ me. I just - I can’t take that step. Not now.’ He knows that. He knows that. He damn well better know that. She’d cursed in her head over and over terrified that she had gotten it all wrong. Maybe they weren’t compatible. Maybe they’d wasted two years of their lives. Maybe he was better off walking out that door and never coming back. 

Owen had stopped trying to leave caught halfway between Claire and the door. He waited a beat then kept moving. Claire called out for him again, her voice a mere whimper. ‘I’m a fucking idiot. I just need a minute.’ 

Claire let him go. 

* 

She could hear him tinkering in the garage for a short while. Before the engine of his car rattled their small home and the sound of him disappearing down the street vanished in her ears. She kept to the garden. Weeding and watering, trying desperately not to think about where he had gone. 

Not for a second did she regret saying no. 

Claire wished he hadn’t withdrawn as much as he had. It was the last thing she had expected. Then again, he hadn’t expected her to decline. 

When she grew tired of the garden, Claire read. She tackled the stack of books in the living room. Some of them his, some of them hers, all of them lying in wait. She wished she hadn’t abandoned them for better more lively things. 

She finished a novel in one sitting. Barely blinked as she turned the pages caught in twists and turns as she kept on, thankful for the distraction. 

Claire ate toast for dinner, staring mindlessly at the kitchen bench. Their orange juice was still there from that morning, her musli, his toast. It had all gone bad. She threw it out. 

She gave in, waiting for him. Collected her laptop and took it to bed. Work was pointless. She couldn’t focus. How she wound up on the animal rescue website for the state, Claire couldn’t consciously remember. Her mind had wandered for a split second, wondering where that afternoon would have lead her if their morning was far more pleasant. And then she remembered, the dog. The bigger house too, and Owen’s one day unquenchable thirst for a family. Real flesh and blood, not furry, or slimy, or scaly. No dolphins or dinosaurs. A real baby. 

The dog, right now, she could do. She couldn’t say yes to marrying him. But, they could adopt a dog … if Owen ever came home. 

Claire was clicking through open tabs reviewing animal profiles and closing those that felt the most out of her reach. She didn’t hear the front door open, nor close. She missed the sound of his boots clunking against the floor and the creak of the stairs. Claire all but missed his silhouette in the blue light of their bedroom, illuminated only by her laptop screen and small bedside lamp.

He crawled in beside her and she didn’t flinch. She missed all the telltale signs, but she knew he was there. Instinctively, Owen wrapped an arm around her waist, while his free hand shut the lid of her computer. He pressed a loving kiss to her cheek and whispered, ‘I’m sorry,’ Into her soft skin. 

Claire shook her head. ‘You don’t need to be sorry.’ She was thankful that he didn’t smell like a distillery. He was sober and smoke free. Wherever he had disappeared to for the day, it was a safe place. For that, Claire was pleased. 

Owen hummed, a new kiss pressed to her cheek, followed by a second and a third on her jawline. ‘Yeah, I do. I knew better than that. I just, I don’t know, got caught up in the moment.’ A fourth kiss found her throat. 

‘You had a ring in your pocket. That’s hardly “ _caught up in the moment”,_ Owen.’ She felt him grin against her skin. It was his mothers. He’d had it since their first trip out to visit Heather Grady since The Incident. His mother simply wanted him to have it. The ring had been burning a hole in his pocket for years. Owen finally snapped under the pressure. 

He pulled the ring box out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘I promise. I won’t propose this time. But, it’s yours. I’m not going to give it to anyone else.’ Claire didn’t bat his hand away or tell him he was ridiculous. Instead, she took the box and opened it slowly. There had been no time to admire antique jewels earlier. She was still hesitant too. Now her eyes managed to land on the ring instead of Owen’s hopeful face. Maybe that was because he kept his face down, peppering kisses along her collarbone as she criticised the ring. Admired, not criticised. 

It was old, and well loved. It felt like too much to hold in the palm of her hand. Just like her mother’s ring had. Karen was going to get it anyway. But Claire never managed to hold the thing without wanting to choke on air. Karen got both. Their mother’s wedding band and engagement ring. Claire got her father’s in the mail after he passed. 

‘I thought we could adopt a dog.’ Claire managed to find the words, half lost in mournful fancy and caught on the feeling of his lips on her belly. He was saying sorry, between kisses, his head under her - well, his - shirt as Owen followed the valley of her breasts down to the elastic of her underwear. She had long since forgiven him. 

‘What?’ He asked. His voice was muffled as Owen pulled away from her skin, the shirt ruffling his hair as it slipped over his head. She repeated herself. Owen chuckled, hand scrubbing over his face before he settled them on her knees. Nonchalant, Claire reached for her laptop and lifted the top open. 

Owen barked his laugh a little harder, humour erasing the worries of their dead. ‘Here I am trying to make up my botched marriage proposal.’ He bent to kiss the inside of her thigh, curious to see her reaction. There was none, at least not what he could see past her computer. ‘And you wanna talk about dogs?’ 

Claire lowered her computer screen just to look him in the eye as she pushed her reading glasses further up her nose. ‘Mhm,’ She hummed. Satisfaction was the death of desire. She could make him wait a little longer. 

‘I love you,’ Owen chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe her. That was exactly why he loved her. Claire Dearing was a little bit ridiculous. He climbed up the bed to flop beside her, last kiss pressed to the corner of her mouth. 

‘As you should.’ Claire teased, kissing him back. He tried to steal her focus, to close the laptop and let live. Claire had other plans, even though she _stressed_ that whatever dog they liked, had to _choose_ them first. 

He didn’t care. Owen was simply thankful that she let him back into their bed, that she met his kisses with her own. That she was okay to have him, the colossal idiot by her side through thick and thin. 

For survival.

Regardless of if there was a ring on her finger or not.


	101. #101 - Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen loves how short Claire is. He also likes to tease her about it too.
> 
> &
> 
> ANON: Pretty please! ‘Imagine your OTP watching Horton Hears a Who and when Horton says “A person’s a person, no matter how small”. Person B, the taller one in the relationship, looks over at A and smirks, repeating Horton’s line. Person A proceeds to glare at B and elbows them in the side’. From @otpprompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one tonight - no pun intended.

 

He was a child. Claire was sure of it. Better: _childlike_. Half their DVD collection was dedicated to children’s animation. Not that Claire could complain. There was something about Disney after a hard day. 

He shoved a bowl in her hand when she walked through the door. The rich smell of macaroni and cheese filled her nose and dulled the small ache in her head. Comfort food. Owen always knew what she needed.

Claire settled into the couch, shoes kicked off, legs tucked under her. She lent, precariously against her husband’s shoulder as he settled next to her. They didn’t need words, no ‘ _how was your day’_. He knew. She had called him already. 

He wrapped his arms around her when they finished eating, allowing Claire to snuggle a little closer. It added to the warmth blossoming in her chest, blooming alongside the story from her childhood. _Horton Hears a Who._ Of all things. 

‘Don’t you need children to watch a kids film?’ She asked quietly, teasing mostly at his choice of viewing for the night. The question was always on the tip of her tongue, wondering whether they had a right to indulge in silly films. Owen was never bothered by it. 

He shrugged, ‘It’s not exactly a prerequisite’. It was his easy way of dodging the broken conversation she wasn’t willing to have. Claire focused instead on the film, listening to Jim Carey and Steve Carell lull her into her after work coma. She was barely listening to the movie, watching the colours play out in front of her eyes. She daydreamed instead of playing the active participant. When Owen recited words back to her, echoing the end of the line seconds after the elephant had, Claire was a little confused. 

‘ _A person’s a person, no matter how small.’_

She rolled her eyes. There needn’t be any context with the sly grin on Owen’s face. He was referring to her. Claire raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t _that_ short. ‘C’mon, it’s funny,’ Owen squeezed her smile still large on his face. She glared daring him to mention the step in the kitchen. It wasn’t Claire’s fault that they bought a home with high set cabinets. The top few shelves were just a little out of her reach. 

Claire elbowed him in the ribs just for his grin. It was getting to her, his easy going lazy smile, the admiration in his eyes. She wanted to grumble at him for picking on her height. Five foot, six inches wasn’t short by much. But he looked at her with complete fondness that she couldn’t find the strength to be irritated. 

‘Oi, don’t man-handle me.’ Owen complained. The arm wound around her waist pulled her in closer as he kissed the top of her head. ‘There’ll be no sticky date pudding for your short ass.’ He teased, holding her close so she couldn’t physically retaliate. She relaxed under his touch, her body giving in reluctantly. 

‘I don’t know why I married you.’ Claire sigh softly, wrapping her arms around his. 

Owen chucked, ‘Sure you do. Who else was gonna reach the high shelves?’ He deserved the second blow to the ribs, her elbow swinging home. 


	102. #102 - Charlie, Elliot, and Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: You should write a fic from Bryce’s most recent ig pic!! Maybe Claire goes on a business trip and the girls ask Owen to help them back a sign and cook to celebrate her coming home! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The instagram pic in question is the one in which her children made a 'welcome home mommy' banner.

If anything they were used to adapting. Especially when it concerned Claire’s schedule. His daughters, mostly Elliot, but not excluding Charlie depended on their mother. He could provide for his children, comfort them, feed them, send them to bed on time. Hell, Owen Grady could do readers and math homework too. They just didn’t like it as much as mom. Even Charlie. He didn’t do it right, apparently. 

When Claire’s business trip to Japan escalated from one week to three, they all took a deep look at patience. He was growing tired of the tears, not that his girls could help it. Elliot was flustered, frustrated and completely caught off guard outside of her routine. Charlie acted up alongside her sister. Claire sniffled on the phone, listening to anecdotes from another day she managed to miss. 

She was coming home. T-minus ten hours. Charlie and Elliot were antsy, Owen too. He could hardly blame them when their mother was so close to home. He just wished they could settle and wait patiently. He should have known better than to expect that from his daughters.

‘Daddy?’ A little voice reached out for him, hands touching gently against his cheek, the other pressed deep into his pillow. Elliot. A body draped itself over his back. Charlie. Owen grumbled, the noise low and soft. He couldn’t see the time, and frankly, he didn’t want to. He blinked his eyes open slowly, greeting Elliot’s angelic face. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ She grinned, head tilting so they were both horizontal. 

He fluttered a smile for the four-year-old. ‘Hi, baby. Is Charlie on my back?’ He asked, as he wound his hand around his eldest’s foot and squeezed. 

Elliot hummed. _Mm-hm._ ‘We gots’d an idea.’ She grinned, face too bright for whatever time it was. He knew, without a doubt, or confirmation, it was earlier than it should have been. Elliot was still in her pyjamas, from the looks of it, her blonde hair a halo of mess around her head. At least it hadn’t gotten to the point that she dressed herself. They’d been there before. 

He let go of Charlie’s foot, to wrap it around Elliot. Tucking the girl into his chest and under his chin. Charlie was heavy on his back, likely asleep, if he was lucky there would be no protest from Elliot. ‘I can’t wait to hear it, Elie. But, can we get five _more_ minutes of shut-eye first?’ The girl shook her head and wiggled out of his arms.

‘Nah, ah. We got things to do!’ There was no way he could settle her bright eyes, Elliot wasn’t going back down even if he held her captive. For the thousandth time in three weeks he wished Claire was there. Maybe she’d have a better chance in scoring him some extra sleep against Elliot. ‘C’mon, let’s go!’ Elliot tugged on his arm encouraging him to move. 

Owen sighed, a deep inhale before he slowly let out his breath. ‘Oh-kay. What’ve you got planned?’ He blinked over to the little girl sitting cross-legged in front of him, her hands in her lap, looking more and more like her mother everyday. It was funny, he thought, that in physical appearance, Elliot took after his family. Warm skin, and light hair, she even resembled his sister when Lorna had been young. Despite what she looked like standing still, Elliot was Claire just as much as Charlie was. Every tiny mannerism, every moment of her arms to the muscles in her face. His daughters had a strong influence, and for that, Owen was always thankful. 

‘Ma’s coming home today?’ She asked, suddenly uncertain. Owen confirmed, looking at his watch regretfully for the first time that morning. _Seven AM_. Could have been a new record. Claire’s plane was due to arrive in eight hours. ‘Can we do a surprise?’ Elliot had always been funny like that, bursting at the seams to share her ideas, and once she finally got the stage, she shut down. 

‘We’re gonna go meet her at the airport, that’s a surprise.’ Owen told her, hand running over her little head, trying to assess the damage a hairbrush would cause her hair. 

Charlie shifted, on his back, arm flopping down next to his. ‘She wants to make a welcome home banner.’ The nine-year-old supplied, filling in the spaces of her sister’s nonexistent words. That was probably part of their problem. Elliot never needed to fill a sentence properly, not when her sister knew everything she was going to say. 

Owen hummed. It could be done. Last he checked they had art supplies. His girls were rather meticulous with their coloured markers. Paper would be an issue, but they could pinch some from the study if need be. ‘Are you sure we can’t have a quick snooze?’ He was still tired, and in no way would let his daughters be up and about without doing so too. They could manage themselves. Well, Charlie could manage them - for thirty minutes before World War III broke out. 

Elliot crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head sternly. That was it then. ‘You can nap when Ma get’s home.’ She told him in her bossy voice, imitating her mother’s boardroom tone. ‘You know, you even get her at bedtime!’ Elliot pouted, reseting her arms over her chest. 

Owen chuckled. The last thing he wanted was to be exhausted the first night his wife was home after _three weeks_ of separation. Elliot’s word was borderline law. ‘All right, I’m up.’ Owen grumbled, waiting for Charlie to sit next to her sister before he got up. 

Elliot cheered as he pulled out the art supplies, setting it across the dining table for his daughters to go wild. He brushed her hair, pulling it up and off her face in a high ponytail while she glittered the letters Charlie drew. He watched them work together in harmony for a moment, marvelling at Charlie’s consideration. Each letter was etched out in pencil so her sister could recreate her own off the outline. He’d never been that considerate with his siblings.

Owen served them cereal, curious to see how long it would take before Elliot ended up with glitter in her cheerios. He cleaned while they drew, and glued, and glittered. It wasn’t the first time he’d been left in charge of the homestead and the kids. In fact, he could manage it fairly well on his own (he would prefer not to). There had been a few things left undone. Excess dishes in the sink, an extra load of laundry. Elliot’s room was a mess, but it’d hardly mattered because she barely slept in there. The TV remote had been lost to the recesses of Couch and Owen had no time to search for it. Knowing Claire it’d be the first thing she stumbled upon when she came home. He checked the entry for the remote. Just in case. 

When the girls finished their banner, ‘ _welcome home mommy!_ ’ spelt out across seventeen sheets of multi-coloured paper, no letter was the same. It had taken them three hours to individually decorate each sheet. Charlie and Elliot had managed to use everything in their craft box; markers, crayons, glitter, pipe cleaners, scraps of wrapping paper, sequins, and stickers. They had exhausted their resources from the looks of things. Charlie had punched two holes in each page before threading a long line of string through them all. Elliot had been the one to tell Owen that they were finished, but the banner had to dry before he put it up, or else he’d ruin it. 

He sat them down for a movie once they’d cleaned up, sandwiches in their laps, sleep in their eyes. ‘Is Mama home yet?’ Elliot asked, voice sleepy. She was fighting it, Owen could tell and he hated that she was. They’d had a night or two spent wide awake. Elliot was the biggest contender, refusing to sleep until she had her mother, like Claire would magically appear upon her request. The girl had always been like that, refusing to sleep for him. Owen didn’t expect any less. He just wished she would sleep now before Claire got home and Elliot was hit with the reality that she had to share. 

‘Not yet. We’re going to the airport to get her, remember?’ He asked, stroking his knuckles across her cheek as her little eyes drooped. She was on the edge of sleep when Charlie leant over, memory on her lips of the time Elliot was born. They didn’t meet Claire at the airport that day, instead Charlie flew with Owen to go meet her new sister. 

Elliot was suddenly abuzz. ‘Are we getting a baby?’ She asked, green eyes wide where seconds ago they had been shut. Owen shook his head, continuing the soothing line of his knuckles, this time against her arm. Claire would not be coming home with a baby. Elliot’s position in the family was safe. 

Surprisingly Elliot fell right back into his sleepy trap. The three of them napping throughout the rest of the movie. 

The airport’s arrivals gate was surprisingly busy for two o’clock on a Sunday. Owen found a spot the girls to stand, prime position where Claire could see them, or in the least, they could see her. They waited anxiously, bouncing on the balls of their feet as people milled out in a small stream.

Elliot was the first to see her, which hardly surprised Owen. The girl shrieked, before she dashed off into the crowd, her father hoping she’d identified the right woman. It was easy to get confused, even if Claire was recognisable in a crowd. 

‘Mommy!’ She shrieked, as her little legs carried her into the hoards of bodies, Charlie following behind quickly, their sneakers squeaking on the airport tile.

Elliot’s cry was received by another voice, ‘My girls!’ Before the mass of people dwindled and he could spot his wife, kneeling on the ground, a daughter in each arm. He approached them swiftly, helping Claire stand as she clung onto Elliot, the little girl’s legs wrapped around her waist. It would be impossible to separate them now, Claire peppering kisses across her daughters’ cheeks. Charlie accepted the affection, her fingers curled around Claire’s spare hand, holding on for dear life. 

‘I’d say you were missed.’ Owen grinned, kissing his wife fondly, not in the least bit concerned with who saw or Elliot’s hands pushing at his face. ‘Oi, I’m allowed to love her too.’ He turned to Elliot, holding her hand away from his face as he pecked Claire’s lips with a promise. 

Elliot shook her head before dropping it to Claire’s shoulder, her arms wrapping around her mother’s neck like she used to when she was an infant. ‘Mine,’ Elliot told him, offering a semi-serious glare. 

Claire laughed, caught mid bend to give Charlie another cuddle. ‘Play nice, Elie. I’ve been home for ten seconds.’ Owen grinned watching as the girl loosened her hold a little but refused to let go completely. They knew to expect a clingy four-year-old, Elliot not willing to retract her claws for days until she’s comfortable with the idea of Claire not leaving again. 

Elliot crashed early, the excitement of having her mother home too much. That or bossing Owen around in the kitchen had tired her out. She was out for the count earlier than usual, snuggled up against her mother and content to stay there. It was Owen that had to carry her to bed, praying that once he tucked her in she stayed there. He’d been bad while Claire was away, allowed Elliot to sleep in their bed more often than not. It was the only thing that seemed to soothe her or at least softened her defences faster. 

Once Elliot was carried to bed, Charlie got her mother one on one. She took the opportunity to talk about school and promised that Owen took good care of them. Claire kissed her hair, and thanked her for the tenth time for such a lovely banner, listening carefully as Owen explained how good she had been with Elie. Charlie carried herself off to bed not long after, kissing her Ma on the cheek and hugging her close. 

It was Owen who waited until all the lights were out. The dishes in the washer, the doors locked. It was Owen who waited until every story and bedtime kiss was done. It was Owen who waited until last before he got his wife back. It wasn’t so bad. He preferred being able to kiss her in the privacy of their bedroom, children asleep than wide open airports, and Elliot pressing at his cheek. 

‘I missed you,’ She purred as he growled into her skin. Her hands everywhere and all at once. He’d been whispering things in her ear all afternoon, his own hands sliding across her skin, lips teasing. If it wasn’t so fun to wind her up, the both of them tense with their distance, he would have known better than to tease her. She was desperate, clawing at his skin, trying to merge the two of them together. 

She pushed him down onto the bed, Claire climbing across him to straddle his waist, their hearts beating in a rapid staccato as their lips met messily. The bedroom door creaked open, tiny voice calling out _Mama_. It was Elliot. They knew the faux scared voice anywhere. ‘I scared.’ Elliot wobbled, heart only half in it. 

Claire sighed, slipping off her husband as she sought her daughter in the dark. ‘They have school and kinder tomorrow, right?’ She breathed to him quietly, eyes locking on the little figure in the doorway. 

Owen chuckled, confirming lightly that his daughters would be out of the house from eight-thirty to three. She signed again, hand patting his stomach in a promise that regretfully meant later. Claire ushered Elliot forward, small footsteps padding across the carpet before the mattress moved slightly to welcome her. Elliot took no time in making herself comfortable, little body curled against her mother’s chest. ‘Welcome home,’ Owen teased as he settled in beside her, gentle kiss dropped to her shoulder. 


	103. #103 - Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire and Owen drunkenly sleep together after their first date. The next morning Claire realises it’s a mistake and tries to leave quietly but Owen catches her and begs her to give him another change by spending the day with him anddddd it actually does well :)

Claire didn’t need to wake fully to feel the memory of calloused hands on her skin. Pleasure echoed in her veins, small throb built up in the pit of her stomach. She groaned, trying to cling to faint memories in order to place them. She wiggled just a little, stretching slightly in the late morning air. When she shifted, body wriggling back just a inch Claire collided with thick wall. Her body stiffened. She didn’t need to think in order to identify the mass.

Suddenly all of her senses were on, tuned into the room and screaming at her loudly. She could smell the woods on him, the sun and salt water. It had been a while, but Claire still recognised the indistinguishable morning erection pressed into the small of her back. 

She was wearing a shirt that didn’t feel like her own, her fingers curled into the cuffs, the fabric rough against her soft skin. It smelt like him, the heady scent of wilderness that always seemed to cling to him. It reeked faintly of sex and disappointment. Not that the sex had been disappointing, or at least she assumed from the semi pleasant ache settled at the apex of her thighs. 

What had she done. What had see been thinking. She groaned a little louder than expected when she blinked her eyes open and found herself in her on island apartment. The groan was followed by a curse as she shoved her head into her pillow.

She thought briefly of getting up and leaving. It was her apartment, what was she to do. At least if she left, took a long walk around the park he had enough time to wake, wait for her, realise she wasn’t coming back before making himself scarce. Claire could live with that. She could live without the calm that had settled over her body, muscles loose yet sore. She could go back to who she was before this. They had time to recover. 

She slipped from her bed, careful not to wake the body she left behind. It was with great restraint that Claire shuffled through her wardrobe in desperate need for something clean to wear. Something that wasn’t _his._

Her memory wasn’t serving her too well, finer details faded out for painfully specific ones. She knew their date had been bad, he was late, she was annoyed and by the time he offered to take her to Margaritaville Claire said fuck it and gave in. Not to him. To the night. Claire Dearing never would admit succumbing to Owen Grady. 

Evidently, she’d had too much. Enough to leave blurs on the outside of her vision her head throbbing along with every previously unused and now aching muscle. Was it possible for fingers toache, still with overused movement. _That_ she could remember, curling her fingers against his skin, against her own, head thrown back on a low guttural moan. Owen had only echoed the noise, face buried against her neck, one hand in her hair the other between them. 

‘Fuck.’ Claire hissed at herself as she hoped down the hallway, tugging a pair of jeans up her legs as she tried to flee. She’d replaced Owen’s shirt with a baby blue blouse, mustard yellow sweater pulled on top, trying to feign some semblance of a collected appearance. It was her day off, it needed to look like she had an agenda, not like she was running away from a horrible date that had ended too well for her to contemplate. 

Thankfully, even in a drunk state Claire managed to leave her keys on the counter where they seemed to live. She collected them, calmed by the easy jingle as she moved without hesitation for the door. 

‘Claire, wait!’ Owen’s voice hit her ears, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. He pleaded, desperate and still half asleep. Claire swore under her breath before she took a deep breath and turned to face him. 

Claire jumped, spinning herself back around. Her breath caught on a squeal as she was met with Owen, standing stark naked in her hallway. She felt like a schoolgirl, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she begged him to put some pants on. They may have slept together but it didn’t mean she was completely prepared to see sans clothes … not again. 

Foiled in the middle of her escape, Claire retreated for the kitchen while Owen was busy trying to relocate his clothes in a foreign place. She watched the coffee brew trying to think of anything other than the situation at had. When it was ready Claire only poured one cup. ‘I think it would be best if you left.’ She told him, leaning on the counter as he reentered the room. 

He stopped, halfway though buttoning his shirt to blink at her. She was serious and he was mentally questioning that. Claire was questioning it. She was half curious to know where things would end up. Badly, most likely. But, at least it would be a fun ride. He wasn’t one-hundred per cent an Neanderthal. There could be fun. Claire shook her head. She wouldn’t be persuaded by the well defined muscle on display. No matter how big he was. Claire raised her eyes back to Owen’s face mentally saying goodbye to the rest of him. 

‘Last night was a disaster.’ She started again, rolling her eyes at the board shorts he was wearing. They were the deal breaker. What _decent_ human being turned up to a date in board shorts? Claire didn’t care that it was hot, Central America tended to be. He’d been on the island for five years now, he should have acclimatised better. 

Owen raised a hand to stop the next stream of words that were about to fall from her lips. ‘I know the date went wrong, and really I’m _sorry_. But, you can’t deny that something wasn’t there.’ She shook her head. Owen underestimated how quickly she could brush this under the rug. ‘Give me a second chance. Let me get it right.’ Claire bit her lip actually allowing herself to think about it. ‘C’mon, one more shot. Give me today, Claire. I swear, if it’s terrible I’ll get all my paperwork in on time and you’ll never see me again.’ Claire scoffed, mug pressed to her lips as she nodded softly. 

Other than her day off, Claire had nothing to loose.

*

Claire teased that he was already off on the wrong foot when Owen asked to stop by his bungalow. The man sputtered, put off by her for a second before he laughed. No way was he trying to impress her for a second time in those board shorts. 

While he changed, she waited in the car wondering why the hell she’d agreed to this. Claire needed to get out more. That was her problem. Ithad to be. She was just looking to get out of Command, out of the stuffy office buildings and her too clean apartment. If Owen Grady was offering that opportunity she could bite her lip and go along with it. 

Or bite her lip for completely different reasons. She couldn’t lie that the air around them had changed. The tension had slipped away, replaced with a warmth that kept her heart beating, and familiarity that screamed to hold his hand. Claire refused touch him. 

He surprised her when he requested the wheel of the car and drove them toward the ferry. Off-island. Claire watched him uncertainly. ‘What, you want every employee here to know we’re being nice to one another?’ He teased easily as he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards their new transportation. It hadn’t been an issue last night. At least not to her foggy brain. 

Claire pretended to ignore the tingle in her wrist and the warmth of his large hand. It wrapped around hers, completely dwarfing her little fingers under his much larger ones. She swallowed hard, ignoring the way he tucked an arm around her waist as she shivered. The main deck was cold, but she had always preferred to sit outside whenever she had boarded the ferry. Claire had just never done it with Owen. He offered warmth before she could complain of the choppy sea air. 

She wanted to back away, to unfurl herself from his strong arm. She couldn’t find the strength of will. There was something calming between them. Everything settled outside of her panicking mind, which hardly added as a factor. She was always overthinking. 

Claire liked Owen. She did. He drove her crazy more often than not, building a tension between who they were and who they could have been. She resented him a little for that. She liked people, _most_ people. Claire Dearing liked Owen Grady. He just wouldn’t let her close, until now. Before then, it was jokes and banter, poking her buttons and trying to piss her off. 

He brought her near only to push her away. Claire wasn’t interested in playing games, not if they only lead to heartache. Evidently something in her was happy to jump right in without proper thought. Not something permanent, but temporary. Tequila most likely. Claire was kidding herself if she pretended she couldn’t remember most of what happened. There were blurry patches and then there were her breathless little stutters and Owen swearing her name. 

Claire jumped slightly when Owen’s hand squeezed her hip, his green eyes watching her face carefully. She’d been caught in her own world so much she’d missed the ferry berthing. She let him lead her by the hand, off the ferry and through the busy car park. She didn’t protest until he stopped a street vendor and ordered from his cart. 

‘What are you doing?’ She asked, a little irritated, her hand slipping from his. 

Owen shrugged, ‘Getting food’. He handed the vendor cash in exchange for two hot dogs. He held one out to Claire. She shook her head. ‘C’mon, let loose. Don’t over think it. We’re just two people walking along the street, eatin’ hot dogs, maybe heading for the beach. No big deal.’ 

She scrunched her nose up at him, and stepped away from the offered food. Owen only forced it in her hand, telling her to do what she wanted with it. Be it eat the thing or throw it in the trash. Her growling stomach made the decision for her. 

‘So, why Jurassic World?’ Owen asked her as the beach appeared in front of them. 

Claire shrugged. ‘The opportunity was there. I took it.’ He’d heard Masrani hand selected her. Plucked her from her college graduation ten years ago. The park had been open for ten years. Claire had been there since the very beginning. She oversaw most everything from the San Diego office before it became crucial for her to move to the island. ‘What about you?’ 

‘Seemed better than the navy,’ Best decision of his life, still. 

It was surprising how easy the conversation flowed, the two of them sitting on the beach talking about everything and nothing. Claire ended up leaning on him at some point, her shoulder to his, her head threatening to fall as she told him about her sister and nephew’s quietly. 

It was easy. All of it. Talking to him, honesty. Things she hadn’t said for a long time setting themselves free in fresh air. It felt right, almost comforting when he brushed a kiss across her hairline, the action involuntary on his behalf. She pulled back, hand on his arm conflicted look on her face. It was curiosity that drove her to lean in slowly, lips gracing his in an experimental motion. 

This was what it should have been. Claire sank into Owen’s embrace as he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into his lap. The ease had been hidden away by tension filled bricks, building a wall around the comfort they should have felt. Dinner was a disaster. Sleeping together likely wasn’t the right move either. But this, this was right. He’d pulled back the edges of her frayed self, trying to find the trust she so desperately wanted to hand out. Claire hadn’t even realised that she gave it to him. Barely noticed he’d snuck past her defences until a giggle bubbled in her throat. 

‘Maybe we’re not so terrible.’ She hummed, as Owen chased her mouth with his own. He hummed, far too focused on the moment for words. For that, Claire was glad. She didn’t need him rubbing it in that second chances were all it took. 

 


	104. #104 - Charlie, Elliot, and Broken Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can you write about Elliot’s ballet injury

He wasn’t usually there. Elliot was at ballet five times a week, most days after school until late and all day Saturday. Claire was the one who dropped her off, while he picked her up on the odd occasion. That was the routine they had since she started dance. He never thought they’d still be there thirteen years later, the hours extended, more days added, and his daughter’s enthusiasm still bursting from her.

She was pushing herself because he was there. _Showing off._ It wasn’t like Owen had never seen her dance. Half of his garage had been reverted into a studio, their living room a practice space before that. He was there for every recital, every performance no matter how big or small. He didn’t take her to class, but that didn’t mean he missed a thing. 

When she was a little girl, Elliot would force him to practice with her. The five positions traced with pointed feet and poised hands. He knew his daughters love for dance, he nurtured it and watched it grow. 

She had been pushing herself too hard and too fast as of late. Owen only watched her with concern. They’d spoken about commitment to dance in relation to school recently, a family meeting held between his youngest daughter and his wife. She was sixteen this was where she had to make her sacrifices. Prepare to quit now or drown under the load. Elliot, if allowed to take the option, would prefer to drown trying to juggle both. As much as they knew she loved ballet, Claire encouraged her daughter to cut down. 

Elliot was pushing herself in retaliation, every turn, was held with angry contempt the focus in her face clear. She would do this, or she would die trying. They weren’t asking her to stop dancing. But, Elliot felt like they were. Which was why Owen was the one sitting in the booth watching his daughter beat out her anger with a grace he had never seen anyone else execute. 

She tapped on the glass to get his attention, beckoning him into the room with a wave of her hand. ‘I need you to count for me,’ Elliot told him, despite the fact that her coach was in the corner of the room. She liked two opinions, just in case the second missed it. Owen took a look at his watch, noting it was nearing eight and Claire would be pissed if they stayed out any longer. He nodded easily, giving Elliot a final ten minutes with a warning that they needed to go soon. ‘I just want to beat my personal best, and then we can go.’ She told him with a thankful smile before stepping toward the centre of the room. 

Her coach, Natalie, left her corner of the wall to stand by Owen, commenting that Elliot had a best of nineteen turns in a pirouette. The young girl had been desperate to break twenty and to keep climbing from there. He knew it was somewhat a big deal. Or at least, it was mostly all Elliot talked about. That and something about a scout from a top notch Russian ballet academy. Natalie only nodded her head with a small hum and a promise of ‘ _we’ll see’_. 

He watched her, up on her toes, one foot pressed to the inside of her knee as her body turned, once, twice, three times. She reached twenty before he could blink. 

And then it all went wrong. She was pushing herself too hard, especially after things were tense with her mother. Elliot failed to land her turn-out. He missed what happened. One minute she was turning in front of him, numbers ticking in his head, joy that she had surpassed her goal. In the next second she was on the ground, hunched over, hands clasping on her foot as she tried desperately not to cry out.

Elliot was no stranger to pain, injuries in the hands of her love for ballet were common, and seemingly painful. She never cried out, never complained. This, this was different. He felt the adrenaline rush the second he saw her face. 

Her teeth let go of her lip, the second Owen dropped down beside her, hand reaching out for her arm. He was concerned, the look trying to hide from his eye but Elliot had seen it all to often to know how to spot it. The wail that slipped from her throat once her lip was free was enough to make Owen cringe. She couldn’t breathe, too busy pushing the air out of her lungs as she screamed, body half limp as Natalie moved for her foot. 

‘I think it’s broken,’ Natalie told her with a terrified look. She was prodding at Elliot’s foot softly, the skin and muscle there completely loose. ’You fell out of that turn a little too fast …’ 

Owen wasn’t listening to Natalie, not entirely. His focus was on Elliot. When the girl whimpered a terrified _‘Daddy’_ He couldn’t help but see the little girl, three years old and beginning ballet for the first time, so excited that she was off to an activity in the afternoon like her sister. He scooped her up without a thought, his only response was that of protection - and getting her to the hospital. 

She cried the whole way there, small sentences seeping through deep grasps for breath. Caught between ‘ _it hurts_ ’ and ‘ _make it stop, Dad_ ’. He couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that she was in pain or that he was powerless to stop it. He could only shush her, one hand off the steering wheel to brush her hair away from her tear soaked cheeks. 

In thirteen years they’d only every found themselves in this position once. She’d developed a bad fever as a young girl, so much so that both he and Claire had panicked, packing her away in the car and driving for the E.R.. Elliot had whimpered for him when Claire climbed in the backseat with her, trying to offer comfort on the drive. He braided her hair, keeping it off her sweaty skin as Claire drove for the hospital, eyes catching his in the rearview mirror.

They were lucky, that so far in their daughter’s life times, they’d managed to keep the hospital visits to a minimum. It didn’t make it any easier. 

Owen didn’t call Claire until they were situated in the Emergency Room, a nurse trying to get Elliot as comfortable as she possibly could. Claire answered the phone in a huff, still annoyed with him for taking Elliot to dance, before her attitude quickly changed. He watched Elliot’s face contort as she apologised to her mother, gripping his phone with both hands as she stuttered through each word. 

It felt like decades before Claire arrived, composed but wild eyed. She was all over Elliot the second she saw her, brushing loose hair from her face as she kissed her forehead and asked if she was okay. The pain had subsided enough that she could breath easier, her words no longer forced out through short screams of pain. 

‘I don’t want it to be broken,’ She whimpered, begging as though her mother could fix it with a simple question. ‘I can’t dance if it’s broken.’ She could still dance once it had healed, Claire didn’t doubt it. She knew her daughters talent would diminish quickly without the practice and that Elliot herself would go mad without the routine. This was why they broached the subject of cutting back now, rather than when she hit her senior years of high school. 

Elliot’s issue wasn’t with waiting until she could dance, or the quality of her technique now that she had potentially broken something in her dainty feet. It was her career. She was still living in the little girl fantasy that she would be a ballerina. Claire and Owen had faith, but they also had realist expectations, and hope that they daughter would find herself in a field that didn’t have a career expectancy under thirty years old. 

No one wanted a ballerina with a broken ankle. Even if it had healed well. 

It was broken. X-rays told no lies the fracture was messy splintering in all directions across her bones. Owen couldn’t help the cringe, no wonder she had screamed so profusely. All Elliot wanted to do was sleep. Curled in on her self she ignored the world and its words, as well as the sound of her dreams shattering. 

They took her home. There was nothing the night staff could do but wait for the increasing swelling to go down. Owen carried his daughter back to the car, and followed Claire mindlessly home before tucking Elliot into her bed, checking that she had everything she needed. 

When she woke, sleep fitful, there was a body curled around her side holding on for dear life. ‘Charlie?’ Elliot whispered in disbelief. She could identify her sister anywhere, even with her eyes closed. There was no issue on that front, but her sister lived in Ithaca, New York, filling out her final months at Cornell University. She wasn’t supposed to be there, in San Diego family home. 

Charlie raised a hand and dropped it to her sister’s face as she mumbled a rough, ‘ _Shh, sleeping_ ’. Elliot hummed, listening to the even breathing of her sister beside her. It took a moment and a half for Charlie to wake herself asking Elliot on a mumble to remind her that red eye flights were the worst idea. 

‘Why are you home?’ Elliot asked her quietly, counting the faint freckles on Charlie’s face, fixing her memorised itinerary. 

Charlie’s morning frown deepened. ‘Mom’s worried that you’re going to sulk in your room all day, that things will get worse, and I think Dad just wanted another person in the house.’ Elliot sighed, the ache in her foot present with the reminder that she had been injured. It wasn’t a dream, it happened. 

‘Dad’s always happy for you to be home,’

‘Exactly. I’m supposed to lift spirits or some shit.’ She poked her sister in the side as she kissed the top of her head. ‘For the most part I’m here to help _you_. It’s what we’re all here for. Mom and Dad just want to know you’re okay so please don’t bite their heads off today.’ She knew it would come, tension built up in Elliot like the waves pulled back before a tsunami hit. 

Her parents had filled her in that Elliot was upset, that she had begged them to magically fix her ankle. But, Charlie knew there was more to come. Her baby sister would realise that this could possibly be the end of a lifelong dream. 

‘I won’t be able to dance anymore, Charlie.’ 

The eldest shook her head, ‘Nonsense. You’ll dance, no one’s gonna keep you from that.’ 

‘But, the scout from Vaganova...’ She watched her sister with wild eyes, panic beating loudly in her chest. 

Charlie chuckled, ‘If you think Mom and Dad are letting you study ballet in Russia, you’re in sane. We all want you to achieve your dreams, Elie, but they’re not going to send you _Russia_ of all places.’ Elliot bit back her comment about Indonesia, Charlie’s impending trip slowly creeping up upon them with each passing week. ‘You’ll work it out, Elie, I know you will. For now, though, we’re going downstairs. Dad promised me his famous chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes.’ Charlie bounced from the bed with an unusual amount of energy. ‘C’mon, little bug.’ She beamed at her sister, crutches pulled out from behind the door. ‘I’ve got your back … well, Dad’s got your back, I’m just taking credit for it.’ Charlie shrugged, as she moved to help Elliot stand. 

‘We’re gonna take the stairs one at a time, or we’re gonna call out for Dad, and he’ll come save your short ass.’ Elliot wobbled, weary on new feet and missing one. 

She shook her head, ‘I’ve got this’. 

Charlie beamed, ‘I know you do’. 

 


	105. #105 - Better Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: No. 4 ‘sometimes I wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up’.

She was as grey as the sky outside their window. The curtains were pulled back across the wide glass space, allowing real life to be put on display. Everything inside their home was on pause, not actual reality but a fabricated one in which what they said and what they felt were two different things. 

He stalked in and out of their room, only to silently check up on her. She lay, half curled into a ball, her body not wholly committed to the shape as she stared lifelessly at the window. One arm curled under her head, the other dangled off her hip. He left water on the nightstand paired with pain killers, and had managed to tuck a heat pack against her skin. 

Claire had boxed him out. It hurt at first, until it bubbled into anger. It was better if she didn’t talk to hum, the irony burning in his throat. Days ago she didn’t want this, and now that it was gone all she could do was mourn. He felt bitter. He would have told her as much if she was talking to him. It was probably better that way. He didn’t mean the words he wanted to say. 

The last thing Claire wanted was a pregnancy, the two of them finally finding their feet in a world that had chewed them up and spat them out. She had said as much, told him that there was no way she was keeping it as he blinked at the positive pregnancy test. He’d only nodded numbly. Sure, it was his child, but it was her body. He couldn’t force her into an ideal she didn’t want. 

Owen didn’t expect the teary, panicked phone call that he got the previous afternoon. Claire on the other end of the line completely terrified. She was at work, hiding in her car due to unbearable pain. He was there within ten minutes, crouched by her open door, hands squeezing her knees. Claire was confident that she was miscarrying. 

He took her to the hospital despite Claire’s plea to go home. It went to hell from there. She drew into herself, built the walls up as the E.R. doctors insisted on a D&C. He tried to hold her hand, to press a kiss to her cheek. He was desperate for contact as much as she needed comfort but Claire wasn’t willing to receive. She snapped her hand back, shrugged away from his touch, and all but turned her back. She looked at him once or twice with tear filled eyed but didn’t ask for the comfort he wanted to give. 

Once home Claire fidgeted for comfort before falling asleep hard and fast. She’d remained there well into the afternoon, ignoring the in and out of Owen’s pacing. He was trying to keep himself busy, his mind off the grief that was begging to hold him down.

He was replacing the heat pack, slipping it between her arms to press it against her stomach when Claire whimpered. Her resolve crumbled in a second. Claire grabbed for him, fingers curling around his arms as she tugged him down. The sob that escaped her broke a silence he felt had lasted a century. He dropped to the space beside her, lying flat on his back as Claire scrambled to fit herself against his side. 

She cried, tears soaking his shirt under her cheek. 

It was more than what had happened. He knew her grief was based more in the shock and sudden loss. He stroked her back, giving Claire the moment that she needed. ‘I’m so sick of crying,’ She mumbled, with a frustrated groan, hand palming at her cheeks. ‘Sometimes I wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up.’

Owen kissed the top of her head gently, his arm around her back pulling her closer. ‘There’s no fun in that, now is there.’ Claire shook her head on a heavy sigh. ‘Besides, I’d probably miss you. Better not wish on that star.’ 

Claire hummed, ‘Better not’. 


	106. #106 - Previous Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: No. 11 ’I don’t have a choice, I never had’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, Nadin, I am butchering these for you. 
> 
> And everyone else; this makes no sense, but I wanted to play with it. So, sorry for my misshaped play-doh. 
> 
> I have another prompt (either one from you guys, or on my personal list, I can’t remember) that will work with this universe. So, it will be back. Be warned.

‘I don’t have a choice, I never had.’ He told her solemnly, hands in the pockets of his blue jeans.  He had a small semblance of a choice, but forgot to act on it. Truth of the matter was, Jurassic World sat in their wake, eight months between the end and their current moment. The navy wanted him back and Owen was in no place to deny them. His time at Jurassic World was leave without pay, Owen still caught in a contract.

He was on loan to InGen, not hired independently. Owen knew it was coming, was practically waiting by the phone for the call. He owed another two years of his live to the American military. They waited until the initial aftershocks of Jurassic World evened out. Trials were still being processed, but Owen had found himself in the clear. He’d almost forgotten about the time he owed them, until he received the call. 

He put off telling her. Owen couldn’t find the right time. It didn’t feel right in the middle of the night as he woke her from a severe nightmare. He couldn’t spit it out over breakfast either, too scared in sudden consciousness. Dinner was off the table. He couldn’t text her - they lived together. Owen agonised over it for weeks, watching her drift off against his shoulder, some reality programme flashing across the television screen.   


It fell out as he was getting ready for bed, moving towards the bathroom as Claire came out. He knew it was the wrong thing to say before it even came out. She settled herself slowly on the end of the bed, bringing one leg up after the next as she stared at him with hollow eyes.

‘Oh,’ She breathed. Owen cringed. He could hear the subtext, she didn’t need to allude. She couldn’t sleep without him. Nightmares still pulled at her dreams, but her quality of sleep had improved greatly since he has slipped into her bed. It was something he dwelled on, terrified of how he would cope, deployed without Claire to warm his bed. 

If he had a choice, he wouldn’t go. He would stay in their condo and never leave. Owen didn’t have a say in what went on, not if he wanted to face the wrath of military higher ups. He was explaining himself before she even asked. Owen didn’t have a choice. He never had a choice. He owed so much to the military, the navy, the marines. They saved him at eighteen-years-old. 

He couldn’t stand the look on her face when he mentioned going back to his mother’s. Owen didn’t want to impose on Claire’s space, or the relationship he thought they had. She was no nonsense, business, not the kind of woman he saw waving goodbye from the docks as he was deployed. He didn’t want her to wait for him. 

Claire flinched when he told her they wanted him in Florida in two weeks. _Two weeks._ Owen felt his heart drop. The whole reason he put telling her off, was for her reaction. They shared some tension, a kiss in the midst of danger, and now a bed. They had not advanced any further than heavy petting, caught up in the throws of a soul sucking nightmare that it took them both a minute to realign themselves.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ She told him quietly, eyes melting into his. He caught a shimmer in her green pools, tears collecting in her eyes, threatening to fall. 

Owen sighed, ‘I don’t _want_ to go’. He was in the midsts of a research project when the Navy hired him out to InGen, his research proving that it could be taken to the next level. Two years wasn’t long enough to start another project. Whatever detail the navy had in store for him, it would be agonisingly mundane. Although, he deserved it, for being out of the game so long. ‘Hell, I doubt I could pass the physical again.’ He shrugged, trying to find some hope in the insanity of it all. ‘If I’m lucky I’ll be given a desk on some base that isn’t too far from here.’ 

‘But, you’ll come home. When you have leave? You’ll come home, right?’ He almost didn’t understand what she was asking, until he saw her hands clasped over her chest. Claire wanted to know if he would come home, to her. Owen nodded easily, affirmation falling from his mouth far quicker than thought. He was stunned, caught on the fact that she wanted Owen to return even after he had left. He half expected her to kick him out, his clothes strewn across the front lawn. He didn’t think Claire would want him back.

‘Every second I can get will be for you.’ He moved, finally, dragging himself away from the ensuite door to kneel at her feet, his hands on her knees, his head in her lap. 

Whatever that had was born in a flurry of trauma. Owen doubted it would last long. But, as the days and nights ticked on, their dependancies grew deeper. He couldn’t let her go, wouldn’t do it, even if their lives depended on it. Claire Dearing had suddenly become his whole world in a matter of months. 

He didn’t want to leave, but knowing she wanted him to come back, to come _home,_ made his departure bittersweet instead of sour. 

With her hands on his cheeks, Claire pulled him up to her face. She met her lips to his in a careful kiss, uncertain and intrusive tears slipped down her cheeks. Owen sighed, the power shifting as he pulled himself onto their bed. His hands mimicked hers in an attempt to drag her closer, to merge their bodies into one. 

* 

She clutched his hand desperately once they stepped out of the car and entered the airport. All eyes were on the man in his service khaki and the red headed woman beside him. They all knew why they were there, and what was about to conspire. 

Claire whimpered when he stopped at his gate, his hand squeezing hers tightly. She wasn’t needy, or wholly dependent, but he knew how little she had slept the night before, too busy trying to etch him into her memory. They’d spent so much time together it was suddenly hard to imagine the two of them forced apart. 

Claire watched his face with a force smile, counting the lines and the edges. Taking in his clean shaven face, knowing the next time she saw it in person he would be rough and rugged. She tried to memorise the way his eyes shone when the wanted to tell her he loved her. She squeezed his hand again. 30 leave days a year. That’s all he was allocated outside special consideration. No one would grant him extra time, not when he had taken five years in the middle of his service for an external contract. 

‘I’ll call you when I land, okay?’ He asked, raising their joined hands to kiss the back of hers. 

‘And every spare second after that?’ Claire felt ridiculous sounding so needy. It had started as a semi game between them. One filled with melancholy and open promises. _I’ll think of you every second I’m away. I’ll miss you every second of it, too._ Every second, she could feel it deep in her bones, an internal clock tick-tick-ticking. 

He hadn’t even left and she was already mourning the loss. 

Owen bent down to flutter kisses across her face, her cheeks, her nose, her eyes, her lips. She took each touch thankfully, her hands digging into his elbows, nonverbally begging him to stay. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ He told her, pulling Claire in for a deep kiss before letting go. 

She counted her days too many times in her head over the two weeks notice she had. It already felt like a century. He hand’t even left and decades had passed. ‘I doubt it,’ She whispered back, telling him she was already missing him with every fibre she had. 

Owen tucked her into his side, holding her with both arms as they watched the people around them get up in preparation to board. He could partially hear her thoughts, a last ditch effort to uproot her life and move to Florida. She had already planned time off, only a handful of months from now, all intentions set on staying with him. 

Owen had been granted recruit training, a menial task that he could easily watch over before a tour they were promising close to the end of the year. He would live on base in Jacksonville, an empty home to call his own. 

He watched the last of the line dwindle down to a few, dread pulling in his gut as he felt her grip tighten. A stewardess smiled forgivingly as she called for the last passengers. Owen pulled Claire into his chest, his face dropped to her hair as he squeezed her tightly, soaking in the smell of her shampoo before he let go. 

‘I love you,’ He managed out just barely as he pressed a hard kiss to her temple. 

Claire choked on a sob, whispering his words back before she pushed him towards his gate. ‘I’ll see you soon, sailor.’ She bubbled, arms crossed over her chest. 

He wanted to risk it all, right there, collect her in his arms and never look back. But he couldn’t. He blew her a kiss in order to watch her eyes roll as she lamely caught it and held her hand to his chest. She mumbled something about _dork_ as he took her appearance in one more time before stepping out onto the tarmac and heading for his plane. 


	107. #107 - Charlie and Motherhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I didn’t have (any?) baby Charlie prompts and hardly any ones that I’ve written previously. I don’t know if y’all know its a cesspool for angst and have just steered clear, or what. But, I was talking to @bryc-dlls-hwrd the other day and I had to write this. 
> 
> I promise, I’ll go out of my way to write a fluffy one next.

He hated the nights that were disrupted. Sleep cut short thanks to nightmares invading their dreams. It hardly helped that they had a baby to feed every four hours. It was worrisome when he woke to an empty bed, Claire nowhere to be seen, the clock to close to Charlie’s last feeding. 

She used to wander the hall when she was pregnant, trying to shift her gate in order to elevate a pain in her back. At least then, it made sense when he woke up alone. It was unusual enough that Owen pulled himself from their bed, curious to see where she had gone too. 

The baby was in her crib at the end of the bed, angelic in the soft moonlight as she slept soundly. Claire didn’t want her in their room, too scared that her nightmares would wake the child and disturb them all. That was what worried him about her side of the bed being empty. He watched his daughter’s little face for a moment, heart physically aching in his chest.

Owen could hear Claire gasping for air the second he reached the stairs. The warmth that filled him just from the steady rise and fall of his little daughter’s breath vanished the second he heart Claire. It took him a second to find her, the woman huddled under her desk in the study. 

She was barely breathing, gulping in large chunks of air, hoping it would reach her lungs. Her eyes were wet, shimmering in the dark, he could only imagine how red they were, blue irises stark in contrast. ’Hey, hey, it’s okay,’ Owen breathed, lowering himself to the floor in front of her. He knew a panic attack when he saw one. It came from personal experience, and not, Claire had enough that he could almost pick up on her triggers. 

She had not had an attack since the nightmares bubbled down to a low simmer, sitting just below the surface, no longer appearing every night, but only for a select few. Claire had worried that her nightmares would affect the baby once she was born, but it seemed as though little Charlie was keeping them at bay. 

Until now. 

‘Claire,’ He dropped his voice, still caught in sleep as he tried to centre her. ‘I need you to breathe.’ He squeezed her arms, hands outstretched to hold her without pulling her in. ‘Breathe, Claire.’ She sucked in a deep breath, her hands squeezing the skin just bellow his elbows. He counted with her,watching as the frantic look in her eyes dulled. 

‘You need to take the baby, and get as far away from me as you can.’ Her hands were shaking despite the hard grip she held on him, eyes pleading for Owen to take her seriously. He let go of her arm to brush a hand across her cheek. ‘Seriously,’ She pleaded, pushing against him in order to keep him away. 

Owen sighed, his large hand pushing her hair away from her face. ‘It was a just a nightmare.’ The argument was routine; she wasn’t broken. 

Claire surprised him with a different argument. ‘I don’t love her.’ She whimpered, pulling her arms back to tuck them around herself as Owen let go for a split second, taken aback. Claire flinched when his reaction was to pull away, hurt that she had caused the response. 

He knew she was struggling to connect with Charlie. Claire didn’t need to tell him that, he could see it written across her face. Their daughter was two weeks old, although Claire had consented in giving the girl life, she still hadn’t warmed to the idea of motherhood. He was worried about her.

‘Everyone talks about being overcome with emotion. I see it on your face, you love her _so_ much, Owen, it breaks my heart that I don’t feel the same. I just - I look at her and wish I was back at work.’ She laughed at herself mournfully, wiping a hand across her face as she settled her gaze away from him. He opened his mouth, prepared to say everything she needed to hear, when she cut him off. ‘You need to take her and run, or I will do it for you.’ 

He encouraged her to take a deep breath, his hands taking hold of her arms again, reclaiming himself as the centre of her composure. ‘Claire, don’t be ridiculous.’ Every ounce of her was screaming, he could feel her body thrumming under his hands, her heart still beating too fast. ‘Breathe.’ 

‘Breathing won’t fix this, Owen!’ She shouted, voice raised a little above normal. 

‘Something has to!’ He yelled back, voice panicked and desperate. He loved Charlie, and he loved Claire. He didn’t want to have to pick between the two. He wouldn’t accept it, even if she begged him to. 

Her feelings were valid, he wouldn’t deny her that. Owen just needed her to think. She wanted to get off the antidepressants prescribed to her months before they found out about Charlie. She didn’t cut herself off until the day Charlie was born, against her doctors orders. Owen was worried it was making her feel worse, unable to read between the blurred lines of her emotions. She was letting him in, for the most part, allowing the man she hardly knew to peer into the deep recesses of her psyche … hell, she had his baby. He didn’t want to abuse that trust, but he wanted her to think rationally. There was too much going on, several contributing factors, trials still weren’t over for the victims of the I-Rex and other _involved_ beasts, and journalists were hounding them for a birth announcement for the Jurassic World baby. A child born from a romance sparked on Main Street, caught on CCTV footage. It was almost as salacious as the gossip columns citing who was dating who. 

Owen didn’t blame her for wanting to be off her medication. He’d done the same, forgoing his sleeping pills as to not sleep through the baby’s cries - _when_ she cried. He needed them more than life, but it was becoming a dependancy he didn’t want to continue with. 

‘I can’t do this,’ Claire whispered, her voice lowered once again to match the dark quiet of their home. He cupped her cheeks softly to whisper that she could, that he knew she _could._ She just needed time. He wasn’t asking for a miracle. 

They sat in silence, listening to her sniffle, Owen praying that it wasn’t the night Charlie would start crying. ‘C’mon,’ He pulled her into his arms, Claire moving easily to fall against his chest. ‘I know you can do this, Claire. We just need some time to redefine normal.’

‘That might take a while,’ She sighed, cheek pressed to his chest. 

Owen kissed the top of her head, ‘I don’t know about you, but I have all the time in the world. I think Charlie would agree, too. We can wait until you’re ready. Just, stay right here.’ He held onto her tight, terrified to let go. 


	108. #108 - Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Another girl tries to get Owen’s attention to try to get Owen to go out on a date with her and Claire’s dominance appears and she shows that girl that they are already a couple
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: A slightly drunk Claire making Owen play Never Have I Ever/ Truth or Dare/ 20 Questions (any game like that) with her.

 

He knew it would be a bad idea to invite Claire to his ‘boys’ night. Barry and Owen shared drinks almost monthly at one of their newly favourite bars in the city. They called it their boys night, even though it only lasted an hour or two. It was an afternoon catch up, caught in night hours and dark bars. It was how they liked it after so many years spent in the gleaming sun. 

Owen valued Barry’s friendship, he didn’t want to lose it after they had lost the girls, and inevitably their jobs. Although they had sought out different paths after Jurassic World, Barry and Owen found themselves together in San Diego. 

He worried that Claire wouldn’t fit into their quiet little niche. She had known Barry sparsely in their time at Jurassic World, although Barry had known a lot about her. Everyone had, it was kind of inevitable being the Senior Assets Manager and resident ice queen. That and, with Barry being his best mate, he knew everything about Owen’s pinning for Claire. 

He just didn’t know if it was her scene. Yet, Claire agreed readily, thankful for a night out and new scenery. She wasted no time in downing a glass of red wine only minutes after it was placed in front of her. She tried to nurse the second, but much to Owen’s amusement she finished it just as fast as the first. 

There was no animosity between Claire and Barry, in fact they shared a few interests. One being a fluency in a language that zipped right past Owen’s head. Hearing French flow from her mouth with such ease had sent a jolt right through him at first. Until she started to giggle, watching Owen with flushed cheeks. Barry was grinning like a cat who ate the canary. It took one look for Owen to realise they were talking about him, and very likely sharing the secrets of his love-struck days. His ears practically burnt off with the knowledge as he begged the both of them to stop, or at least talk in English. 

Claire laughed, pulling herself away from the table as she licked her lips before biting her lip. Owen only stared at her. This wasn’t like Claire, blatantly flirting with him, flush on her cheeks. He knew it was the alcohol without any other hint. 

He leant into her easily, as Barry shared some story about his new job. Owen was pleased to hear his friend was working, content in a new field far away from InGen. Things had turned out well for Barry, well, well enough. At least journalists had stopped hounding him for information. Owen was still waiting for that one to stop, himself. It likely didn’t help that he shared a condo with Claire. Most of their interest was with her. 

Her space was filled quickly when she slipped out from their table, waving her ringing phone at Owen’s curious expression. The girl who took her seat was brunette, her smile eager and slightly coy. Owen only smiled at her politely before trying to focus his attention on Barry. She was slipping him her number, etched out on a paper napkin when Claire returned. She draped and arm across his shoulder possessively as she slid the girl’s number across the table and motioned for her to ‘shoo’. 

Owen laughed as she settled in beside him, closer than she had been earlier. Barry watched the two of them curiously. As far as he had known, thanks to Owen’s constant bemoaning updates; nothing was happening between the two heroes of Jurassic World. He was living with her, that was it. Teetering on the edge of wanting something more too scared to breach her unspoken boundaries. 

They left earlier than expected, Owen concerned about the deepening crimson on Claire’s cheeks. Barry only gave him a knowing glance, explaining that he too wanted to get home a little earlier than usual. 

Owen Grady had learnt two things about a tipsy Claire Dearing. One, her filter started to slip loose, things she usually didn’t say dripping out before she could control them. And two, she loved games. There was some sadistic and playful part of her that came out after a few drinks. Owen was quickly falling in love with it.

She flopped onto their couch when they arrived home, making herself comfortable, legs tucked underneath her. Although the sun had set it was still too far off to send her to bed. Owen feared the buzz that was running through her, Claire’s eyes starting to glaze over. 

‘Do you get jealous?’ She asked innocently as he moved to join her in their small living room. ‘When I talk to other men … do you get jealous?’ Owen swallowed, deliberating how to answer her question. She could talk to men, he wouldn’t be the one to withhold her from that. Claire worked in a male dominated industry, Owen knew that Claire could handle her own. It was when she talked to men who were better suited to her than he was, that he got jealous. The kind of men who made her laugh, or the freckles flash across her cheeks. It was the men who could provide for her way better than he could that made Owen’s blood boil. 

He shrugged, too scared to answer. He’d never met drunk Claire, nor tipsy Claire in their few short months of cohabitation, and frankly he was scared. ‘I do,’ She admitted after his shoulders settled. ‘When other women talk to you, it almost makes me blind.’ 

Owen’s heart jumped in his chest at her revelation. He played it cool on the exterior, chuckling at her softly as he muttered a ‘I noticed’ In relation tot he young woman who had tried to slip him her number. Claire’s hand on his shoulder had been possessive, almost claiming. 

She hummed for a second, eyes caught elsewhere in the room before she turned to him. ‘Truth or Dare?’ Claire asked, eagerness burning in her eyes. 

Owen chuckled, ‘I’m not playing Truth or Dare with you’. He had been a teenage boy once, hell that sort of thing continued after his teens, college, his navy training. Games. Questionable games that asked the other player to reveal things about themselves. It seemed innocent enough, until questions about favourite colours and secret crushes turned into dares of a sexual nature. 

Claire Dearing wasn’t the sort of person to beat around the bush for long, and he was terrified of the things that would come out of her loose lips and compromised brain. He wanted to play, _God_ did he ever, but it didn’t feel right when she was as seemingly inebriated as she was. He was calling her tipsy, but Claire couldn’t walk in a straight line. 

‘C’mon!’ She whined, pouting like a little girl before she giggled leaning towards him as though to persuade his opinion further. Claire scooted across the couch to sit closer to him, leaning heavily against his side as she batted her eyelashes. ‘You don’t even know what I was going to dare you?

‘What if I didn’t want a dare, only truth?’ He was willing to argue logistics with her when Claire said that truth was banned, it was only a game of Dare. He shook his head. That was not a game they would play in a dying night, not when her cheeks were as red as her hair, her pupils blown too wide. 

Owen shook his head for what felt like the tenth time as he took her hand and pulled her up, leading Claire to her bedroom. She didn’t hide her disappointment when he kissed her head and bit her goodnight, deciding she better get her sleep earlier than not. 

‘I was only going to dare you to stay the whole night,’ Claire whispered catching Owen in the doorway. He never spent the whole night in her bed. He barely spent more than an hour or two on serious nights. Claire had learnt that he was the key to chasing away her nightmares. He rushed to her side when she called out in the night, wrapping her in her arms and promising to keep her safe. He was never there when she woke up in the morning, the space he had occupied empty and cold. 

Owen stared at her, weighing the pros and cons until his head started to hurt. She never gave him permission, never even asked. He only ran to her room in a need to protect. Once Claire fell back asleep, her dreams uncompromised, Owen returned to his room, happy to not address what he had comforted. 

He nodded slowly, accepting her dare on a quiet hum before he disappeared to find pyjamas. When he returned Claire was on the edge of sleep, drifting in and out as she waited for him. Owen perched himself on the very edge of her bed. He allowed himself the smallest amount of space he could possibly occupy, trying not to freeze up and be terrified. He didn’t know where her boundaries lay, not when she was buzzed as far as she was.

Claire only chuckled, rolling over and tugging on his arm, encouraging Owen to slip closer to the centre of the bed as she curled against his side. Had Owen realised he would get the best night’s sleep he’d ever experienced with Claire by his side, he would have fallen asleep in her bed long before she felt the need to dare him. 

She blinked at him lazily, as the sun broke through her curtains the next morning. ‘There was a second part to my dare.’ Owen hummed, eyes barely open, still trapped somewhere in the realm of dreams. ‘Kiss me,’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, terrified that he would turn her down. They had woken in a tangle of limbs, the two of them intertwined. That didn’t stop Claire from thinking he would flee. 

Owen blinked at her, once, twice before his hand slid from her hip to grace her cheek, locking behind her neck to pull her closer. The squeak that escaped her was involuntary when Owen’s lips descended on hers, catching her on a chaste but needy kiss. 


	109. #109 - Guidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire telling Owen about her mom  
> and  
> ANON: Claire has a night terror a year after Jurassic World and Owen braids her hair as she’s calming down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties

He hated the way her breath shook, her whole body so tense it wouldn’t allow her to breathe. It took minutes, that felt like hours, for her breathing to return to normal, for the tears on her cheeks to dry. Claire’s nightmares weren’t relenting. Where his had settled almost months ago, hers were headstrong and forceful, still managing to steal her breath in the middle of the night. 

She’d thrown herself from their bed only minutes prior, hand curling around his arm beside her as she gasped for air. He was up, right beside her, the second her hand slapped his arm. Although nightmares left him alone, he was still alert for hers. 

Her skin was slick with sweat, cheeks burning and undoubtedly pink in colour. He had no knowledge of what plagued her mind beyond terrifying monsters, hybrids made in a lab, set on destroying the world that created it. There were other things that stilled her heart in the night only to jumpstart it with raging fear. 

Claire had only just learnt of a secret hiding under her skin. The knowledge was tormenting her, keeping her torn on indecision. She didn’t know how to react, or how to tell him. Her subconscious lashed out at her in her dreams. Claire wanted to spill her secrets, wanted to tell him that she was pregnant. The words wouldn’t come out. She couldn’t tell him, not now, not when she was uncertain of the choice she had to make. 

He was so tender with her. By her side when he didn’t need to be, awake when he could have slept, Claire fine to sort her nightmares on her own. He was there anyway, fingers running though her damp hair, instantly finding her calm. Where her back had been ridged, straight as a rod, it relaxed, her posture changing with each deep breath she forced down. 

Owen braided her hair quietly in the dark of their shared bedroom, the house around them quiet. Claire focused on the movement of his hands, the tug of her hair, eyes closed as she breathed. He never asked if she was okay. He knew the answer. 

He kissed her shoulder when he was done, the same thing he did every time. She shifted away from him reaching for the pill bottle beside the bed. Her hand wrapped around it, the contents rattling as she gave pause. 

In the dark she was scared of the beasts that had so many opportunities to tear her apart. In the light she was frightened of the cells growing under her skin. Claire had a wonderful upbringing with loving parents and a kind older sister. There was no issue with family there. When her mother died, she closed herself off and vowed that nothing would live up to that. That Claire wouldn’t let herself fall in love and have a family, on the off chance that she wouldn’t die just like her mother, leaving her husband and children heartbroken.

Claire scoffed at herself, why hadn’t her therapist gotten that one out of her? 

She could feel Owen behind her, the man patent and worried. This wasn’t how their nights usually panned out. He would braid her hair, and she would curl up against him and try to get some sleep. ‘My mom died a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday.’ She told him. If Owen were capable of reading her thoughts, he would have seen it coming. But he also would have known before she told him. 

They had a visit panned with Karen, a little over a month away. Claire was terrified Owen would learn of their mothers fate before she had the chance to tell him herself. Karen had moved on from the trauma, focusing her attention on her sons. Claire, however, still clung to the hurt. 

She heard Owen suck in a breath behind her, his hand was faint on her shoulder, but there all the same. He could do math, not as well as she could, but math none the less. The year was gaining up on Claire’s birthday, the date only a few days after they planned to be back from Karen’s. 

It made sense now why they’d almost come to long distance blows over when was and was not appropriate for a family visit. Karen wanted to see her sister around the time of their mother’s death, and Claire just wanted to wallow away from any reminders. 

‘She’d been sick for a long time. We knew the end was going to come eventually. But, for every day she lived, we expected another week.’ Claire turned, moving to face Owen again as she crossed her legs on their bed. ‘My mom,’ She sighed, small smile fluttering across her face. ‘She was wonderful. She was my whole world when I was a little girl. She was tough, and smart, and completely in control of everything she did. It changed when she was diagnosed. She had no control over the cancer growing inside her. Chemo made her weak. She had days where she couldn’t even read the newspaper.’

‘It’s hard to find a positive when that’s the life you’re witnessing. Karen got married, she had Zach. Mom got to see it all. Which was great - great for Karen. When Mom died, Karen had something to do. Had someone to go to. It was just Dad and I in that house trying to ignore all the pictures, and the phantom sound of her down the hall. She had always been my quiet guidance, and then she was gone. Son, I put my head down, I finished high school, and got into college. I worked hard to get where I was.’ She sighed, chest catching for a moment as she watched her fingers in her lap. 

Claire felt as though she had never learnt to stray. Without her mother there reminding her in a gentle voice to _have fun_ she’d forgotten. She did the only thing she knew how, without her mother’s gentle reassurance. She took control and never once turned her eye. 

Owen wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling Claire into his side easily. He tucked her head against his shoulder. ‘What spurred this on?’ His voice was quiet, gentle. He was thankful for the revelation, glad that she felt comfortable enough to share. Claire just had a habit of worrying him. 

‘I’ve just been thinking about her a lot lately.’ Caught in thoughts of how the hell she could be a mother without her mother’s guidance. She had Karen, but it wasn’t the same. All Claire wanted since the doctor had given her a positive result was her Mom’s warm embrace and reassuring words. Owen hummed as she squeezed her, kiss pressed to the side of her head. A lump grew in her throat, her eyes watering as she sighed again, her hands falling against his legs. ‘She would have _loved_ you. Would have thought you were my prince charming.’ She laughed slightly, shaking her head. Claire couldn’t say how she knew it, she just could feel in her gut that her mother would be head over heels in love with Owen Grady, almost bursting at the seams that her daughter had managed to find him. She wondered, briefly, if they would have happened sooner had her mother not died. Lizzie Dearing would have found her way to Jurassic World the second Claire uttered her frustration towards Owen Grady. 

Lizzie always knew better than her daughter had. Even though Claire had been headstrong and certain in so many ways, she lacked in a few select departments. Claire didn’t think she needed guidance anymore, not after seventeen years. 

‘I’d like to think that I’m your prince charming too,’ Owen whispered in her ear, his voice already groggy with sleep, again. Claire chuckled, the noise wet with emotion as she sniffled. ‘I am, right?’ He nudged her shoulder. 

Claire shrugged, ‘We’re still ironing out a few wrinkly edges’. Claire tried her best to ignore the churning in her gut. 

Owen flattened a hand down the side of her head, fingers catching on the braid there as he kissed her cheek once again. ‘For what it’s worth. I think she’d be proud of you.’ Claire scoffed. She distanced herself from her sister as fast as she possibly could after her mother died. Managed to stay close to her father, until he too left her, and forced herself into a work heavy routine that allowed for no social leisure. Her mother would be far from proud. ‘I really think she would, Claire. Despite the bad opinion you have of yourself. I think she’d see you exactly how I do. You’re courageous, intelligent, and resilient. As far as a mother’s hopes for her little girl goes; you got it all, honey.’ 

She curled into him, her hands on his chest, her head under his chin. Claire bit the inside of her cheek as she nodded, accepting his words for the gentle reassurance he was trying to provide.

‘You can always borrow my mom, if you need.’ Owen offered with a sleepy pat to her shoulder. Claire’s stomach rolled again. Yet another reminder of the things she was avoiding. Owen had been to see his mom since they’d settled after Jurassic World. The invitation had been extended to Claire but she politely declined, terrified on how she would react to meeting a motherly figure after going so long without one herself. 

Owen was snoring quickly, dead to the world in a matter of minutes. He wanted to know that she was okay, that everything was right in her world. As soon as Owen knew that, he was out. Claire sighed as she swallowed her fear, spare hand covering the expanse of her flat belly. 

‘Bear with me,’ She told the dark of their room, directing her thoughts to the life under her skin. ‘I’m going to need a lot of guidance, have patience.’ 


	110. #110 - Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen and Claire arguing about something trivial and Owen getting ridiculously turned on
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: Claire/Owen express their feelings about each other out of anger. They are really pissed off at each other about something (as usual) and suddenly one of them just tells the other the whole truth
> 
> and
> 
> bryc-dlls-hwrd: angsty dialogue prompt: “I trusted you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is lame, sorry

 

‘I trusted you!’ The light in her eyes had flickered out, no fire licked there as she stared at him her face cut in betrayal. Owen couldn’t miss the way her voice wobbled, despite the fact that she clearly didn’t want it to.

A rumour had started. And like most rumours, it was false. That didn’t stop it from spreading like wildfire, Claire’s name up in flames along side it. Someone, and Owen really couldn’t pinpoint who it was, had overheard him talking to Barry. It wouldn’t usually be a problem but this time they’d overheard him talking about Claire. Not just Claire in general, but their small failure of a date.

The ice-queen trope was back nickname sliding amongst employees. Inevitably it reached Claire, racing up her spine with vicious distrust. She thought, evidently, that Owen had been talking about her. At least that was what he assumed from the way she stalked across the grass around his bungalow. 

She hissed her words, biting her tongue to hold back the emotion that was bubbling within her. Claire didn’t react like this, over anything, but something coiled in her gut and died there. She felt sick with the realisation that he had shared something that was private between them and allowed it to become idle gossip. 

‘I - I can’t believe you!’ She wobbled as well, her face twisting with hurt. ‘Why would you spread gossip like that?’ 

Owen stepped forward mindful of the space between them. ‘Claire,’ He sighed trying to find the right way to explain the situation. Maybe it was hurt she was very clearly expressing, or the feelings he harboured but Owen wanted to get it right. He couldn’t have her storming all the way out to his bungalow and still managing to leave upset. 

‘ _Frigid?_ ’ She hissed another of the words she had heard. So what, he had kissed her and she pulled away like he was fire, insisting space was put between them as she bid goodnight and left. She was running away from something that felt too pure in her chest, a tenderness untapped and unknown, Owen Grady frightened the hell out of her. She knew it was better not to trust him, and yet there she was attempting to rip him a new one on the basis that her feelings were hurt. She didn’t do this, for anyone. ‘Are you twelve? This isn’t high school, Mr. Grady, this is the real world and if …’ he stopped her with a grimace and a raised hand. 

‘Whoa, wait. Claire, I never said anything. Whatever you heard. I didn’t say it.’ She glared at him, and Owen knew immediately that she didn’t believe it. ‘I swear I didn’t tell anyone but Barry about our date. He wouldn’t say anything like this. Someone overheard, or saw us, I don’t know. But this wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do that to you.’ 

Claire scoffed, ‘Yeah, right’. 

Owen shook his head, his hands outstretched, pleading. ‘I’m not a stupid man, Claire. I would never say things like that about anyone, let alone you.’ He took a breath in, watching her scowl fade, her breath seemingly waiting for his words. ‘You mean too much to me.’ She shook her head, doubt replacing the anger but not entirely. ‘I didn’t say it.’ 

She nodded softly, before raising her head defiantly. ‘You shouldn’t have been talking about me regardless of if people were listening or not. This is a workplace.’ The anger was different, new. She still aimed it towards him but he felt less guilty for actions that weren’t his own. ‘That date was … it wasn’t great, Owen.’ She looked slightly disappointed. ‘Why were you sharing it with Barry, anyway?’

Owen shrugged, ‘He’s my buddy’. He never called her frigid, or ice-queen. He’d only expressed frustration to Barry that she clearly wasn’t comfortable with him. ‘We talk is all. I was at a loss.’ 

‘With me?’ She asked quietly, tone still clipped. He nodded. ‘That’s ridiculous.’ 

Owen shrugged, again. ‘You challenge me in ways I’ve never been challenged, Claire. When that date went south, but you still let me kiss you I knew I wasn’t imagining it. There was something there, a push and a pull. It’s corny, but I felt _alive_. Everything aligned in the universe. It all made sense.’ All he did was shrug, like it was the only thing he was capable of doing, the only way he could express himself aside from the words. ‘I don’t know, maybe I was wrong.’ 

Claire curled the fingers of one hand around the other, eyes on them as she bit her lip. ‘You’re not wrong.’ She told him quietly, voice not as fierce as it had been. Whatever it was, the pull between them it scared her just as much as it made him nervous. ‘I may have gone into that date on self-destruct,’ She admitted. 

‘What?!’ He stepped closer slowly bridging the gap between them, approaching her with a slight swagger in his step. 

‘I was terrified that whatever I felt was _real_. I didn’t think I was ready for that. But, I just …’ Claire fidgeted, unable to catch his eye. Whatever she felt, it was real and it was strong it pulled her back here just to yell at him only to uncover truths. 

‘Claire?’ Owen breathed, his voice low but still loud in her ears. Her own breath caught, heart picking up an extra beat in her chest as she felt her skin tingle. When she looked up, her eyes meeting his, Owen was a lot closer than she remembered. She hummed, unable to find her voice, eyes searching his deep green looking for what she was feeling reflecting in his irises. ‘Can I kiss you, again?’ He asked quietly, his hand reaching out to grace her cheek. 

Claire nodded. It took seconds for him to react, Owen’s body closing the space between them surrounding her in warmth before he fit his lips to hers. She sunk into him, embracing the feeling of her pounding heart as she gave in and kissed him back. 

She whimpered in protest when he pulled away, breath hot against her cheek. ‘I gotta test a theory.’ He whispered, hands on either side of her face. Claire nodded gently, eyes burning with lust as Owen leant down and kissed her again. 

She had been so angry with him, so disappointed that he had spread things about her that were not true. Although she had pushed him away, she also sought him out and some small part of her heart beat wildly for the fact that he was true, honest, and something she didn’t want to run away from.

 


	111. #111 - Not Quite But Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: No. 8 ‘Your smile is not as bright as it used to be’ and No. 33 ‘Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers from this list: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/143084405008/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and
> 
> For all those who requested a number I'll try and keep the pieces between 500 - 1,000 words, and those who requested multiple numbers should receive them BOTH in one fic.

 

He said it in the most profound way, faces bare inches apart, his thumb stroking a line across her cheek. He had kissed her so tenderly, skin only gracing hers as he pulled back. With the slightest of space between them Owen quirked his head, watching her intently. 

_‘Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.’_ He whispered, green eyes shimmering in the slight lamplight. His thumb graced her bottom lip, expression quizzical as he eyed the lines of her face. Her smile faltered a little, drooping at the corners before she picked it back up again. 

‘I’m trying,’ She whispered back, kissing the thumb on her lip. Her eyes pleaded for understanding, terrified that it suddenly was not enough. Claire worked hard for peace of mind, and yet she was still struggling to find it. The mutated beast still growled in her ears, threatening to destroy any semblance of normalcy. 

It was hard to flash a thousand megawatts when she was still aching. Claire was still learning how to pick up the pieces and move on, how life could be better if she just got over the shake in her hands. Owen was patient. She knew that. Although he struggled, he moved on far quicker than she did, easing into a joke and a smile without second thought. 

She was just warming up, thawing after a long winter. And really, his sharp wit was helping. Even when she responded with a biting remark. 

He kissed her ever so gently, going back to what he had been doing before he shared his thoughts. She whimpered when his caresses move from her face, skirting down her throat and attacking her collarbone. He pulled back to admire her skin once again, only to laugh at the scowl on her face. 

‘What?’ He laughed, thumb trying to smooth out the lines on her face with a fond pout of his own. 

Claire grumbled at him, body shifting under his as the scowl set itself into her bone structure. ‘Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.’ She sighed, fidgeting a little more as she leant forward and nipped at his thumb. His chuckle was rich and raw, so deep it thrummed across her bones. The grip she had curled tight around his arms, flexed, squeezing at the sound as her nails pushed crescent moons into his skin. 

Owen dipped his head, pecking the curve of her jaw to the count of five before drifting lower again. Violence wasn’t such a bad thing. At least, Claire’s breathy version of it, caught underneath his heavyweight and completely willing to surrender … if only with a small fight. She was worth everything, he was unworthy of every second she had. The time on their clock hadn’t been ticking for every long, and still he blessed his lucky stars as he peppered kisses across the freckles on her shoulders following them down across her chest. 

Maybe her smile wasn’t as bright as it used to be, on the warm weathered days where he caught her, head thrown back, mid laugh. They were few and far between, Claire’s guard built so high he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her like that. He knew, when they recovered, that Claire would come back. Owen was already dedicating his life to uncovering that smile, the easy joyful laugh so pure it stopped the earth’s rotation. 

For now, he would settle for her shy little smile, teeth buried in her bottom lip as he lavished her skin with sweet kisses. 


	112. #112 - Smarter Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: No. 1 'Are you drunk?' and No. 39 'You're an idiot. I've met smarter sandwiches'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers from this list: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/143084405008/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and

It wasn’t often. But on occasion Owen went out, and when he returned home in a cab, or by the car of a friend he was sometimes inebriated. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It could on chance, be slightly bothersome. There was nothing that made Claire roll her eyes harder than listening to Owen stumble through the door after she spent an evening listening to classical music down low as she read the latest best seller, and sipped a glass of red wine. There had been a bubble bath in there somewhere too. Owen was sure to ruin every ounce of her relaxed mood.

Owen was loud, and just about as coordinated as a newborn giraffe. She watched him from the second floor landing as she stumbled around the house half blind despite the light she left on for him. 

Claire had to cover her mouth with her hand, desperate to stop the laughter as she watched the supposed love of her life trip over the sofa . He rolled over the back of it, landing on the cushions and staying there. Claire waited a beat before moving down the stairs to meet him. 

‘Are you drunk?’ She asked, hand dropping to his forehead. Owen grumbled, eyes closed, hand trying to bat hers away. 

‘It’s not a school day,’ He grumbled, face crinkling as Claire laughed at him. She didn’t move for a few seconds, just watching his face as she pushed messy hair away from his forehead. It only reminded her how much she needed to force him into a haircut. The longer they left it, the worse the curls got. The length, she didn’t mind, scraggly was okay. It was the curls he was constantly pushing from his eyes. The more it frustrated him, the more it began to annoy her. 

Claire bent easily to press a kiss to his forehead before she left the man, moving towards the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. She almost dropped the glass in the sink, letting it smash when his hands slid around her waist, head dropping heavily to her shoulder.

They both sighed, Owen pulling Claire close his grip loose. She reached a hand back to tangle in his hair, still caught in the fight between the man that was hers and the curls that were his. Claire had been blessed with straight hair, and yet cursed by colour. She half wondered how a child of theirs would favour; likely badly, curls _and_ red hair the poor child wouldn’t stand a chance.

‘Drink this.’ She turned in his arms, pressing her back against the counter as she shoved the glass of water in his hand. Owen shook his head. He’d always been a little stubborn, less so with her, but it liked to sit just under the surface. ‘It’ll help.’ She kissed his cheek when he pulled her into his side with the free hand he had. He shook his head again when she tapped the bottom of the glass he was holding mere inches from his mouth. ‘The last thing I want is all one hundred and ninety pounds of you knocked out tomorrow.’ 

He looked down at her, squinting in the bear light, mind twitching. ‘You’re an idiot,’ He laughed, chuckle deep but not completely there. He had his days where the drunk version of himself went down like a two hundred year old tree, and others were he felt as though he was invincible - only when she suggested he was not. ‘I’m met smarter sandwiches.’ His words slurred slightly as Claire rolled her eyes. Slightly delusional Owen, mixed with her sober boyfriend who liked inventing new and annoying pet names for her. He would definitely require recovery in the morning. 

She poked his ribs, ‘That’s nice, honey. Don’t count on the sandwiches to nurse you back to your sober self.’ She tapped the glass again, this time pushing it towards his lips as she tilted it giving the man no other choice. 


	113. #113 - Waterfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn: No. 1 ‘Are you drunk?’ and No. 24 ‘I will if you will’.

 

There was something about nature they both managed to agree on. Protect it, love it, admire it. When he begged her into a second date, on his knees in the middle of her office, on the proviso that he _promised_ it would be something merged between both their worlds. Laid back, but not entirely formal, she would have to compromise. 

When Owen called her with the information that she needed to be prepared for a hike Claire could barely contain her excitement. She rarely had the time to explore the island, too caught up with boxing herself in work. The island promised beautiful tracks she was almost begging to see.

An old pair of Timberlands were gathering dust in the back of her closet, close to growing it’s own colony of spiders had she not cleaned regularly. She couldn’t help but apologise to the shoes she used to adore. Dusting them off her heart thrummed in her chest excitement bubbling in preparation for an adventure. 

She was practically bouncing when they stepped out of Owen’s car where he parked it at the beginning of the track. Claire had to hold herself back, too tempted to waltz right on ahead of him, leaving Owen in her dust. 

She kept her pace even, walking in step with her date as he sparked conversation every few minutes. It was about flora at first, what was native to Central America, and what had been introduced when the park was built. He knew a lot about shrubbery and wild flowers, trees too. Despite not having much to add, Claire was happy to listen allowing his voice to wash over her easily as they pressed through the track. 

He broke away from the track they were following, veering onto a different, barely defined path. ‘Where are we going?’ She asked, hesitant knowing it wasn’t wise to move off the track. 

‘I heard one of the guys talking about this place, it’s just up here.’ He reached for her hand, clasping it in his larger one as he pulled her along. He’d overheard one of the interns at the paddock boasting about a clearing halfway up the track. It wasn’t the clearing Owen was focused on, it was what followed. 

The second they settled, they could hear it. Claire stopped, head tilted back, hands on her hips as she rolled her shoulders. She paused mid action, head tilting a little as she watched Owen’s face with a growing smile. ‘Is that a waterfall?’

Claire chased the noise, fuelled by his grin as she stopped at the edge of a slight cliff. ‘I will if you will,’ She grinned, nodding at the body of water as she yelled over the crash of the water. Owen stared at her, completely taken aback as the woman in front of him surveyed the depths. 

‘Are you drunk?’ He threw back, laughter caught in his throat. Her eyes were alight caught somewhere between the likeness of a child and complete madness. She shook her head, muttering something about not being him on their first date as she asked him if he was too chicken. 

Owen shook his head. They had nothing to loose. Personal items were left in the car, there was no water damage to worry about. Just them, their bodies, alone. He grabbed her hand as she stepped towards the edge, peering over it just as she had. 

With a deep breath Owen nodded, ‘Let’s do it!’ He shouted over the roar. Claire grinned, the smile growing across her cheeks. She squeezed his hand, wasting no time in counting to three before they jumped off the edge in unison. 


	114. #114 - Owen's Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> verxxotle: No. 29 ‘Prepare to be amazed’ and No. 49 ‘It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself’.

 

‘Prepare to be amazed!’ Owen grinned, nudging her shoulder with his. He’d been promising this for what felt like an age. His bike sat on the island they had long left behind just like the rest of their personal belongings. It had taken months to clear the island, deeming it safe enough for small crews of men to go in and pack away the items staff and guests had left behind. 

Owen’s bike was one such belonging. It took longer to get there than the rest of their things, boxes of clothes and personal effects delivered weeks earlier, still sitting unopened on the living room floor. Claire didn’t know what to do with them. They’d gone so long without those things that she felt as though they belonging to another life that was no longer hers. 

‘It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself’. Claire bit her lip, weary as she straddled his beloved bike, hands on the throttle. Owen was beside her, one arm around her shoulders as his hands sat atop hers. 

The Triumph had been dormant for months, he was worried the engine wouldn’t roar to life like it used to. Yet, he wasn’t willing to try it on his own. He’d half driven Claire mad in their time together as he longed for his bike, telling her every tiny detail of the machine so she could see it in her head just as vividly. He didn’t want to start it without her. 

‘Just, give it a second,’ He offered when the bike produced no noise, not even a sickly cough. It sat still, unmoving, the life seemingly drained from it. Owen squeezed her hands, trying to click the throttle over again as he pressed down on the gas pedal. Nothing. He did it again. Nothing. 

Claire could feel the despair radiating off him. This bike was everything, the sole possession he wanted back from that island. He could go without miscellaneous bric-à-brac, clothing, and the small amount of photographs he had. Those things could be replaced. His bike, he _needed_ that back. Claire only faintly understood why. Regardless, it was a necessity. Her chest ached with need for the bike beneath her to start. 

‘Maybe I should have worked on it a little first.’ He pulled away, embarrassed as he scrubbed a hand over his face. 

Claire shook her head. ‘No, try it again.’ 

‘I really don’t think it’s going to work, Claire.’ He sighed, defeated. He tried to help her off, determined to leave Claire to the rest of the day as he sought out his tools and attempted to restart his bike. 

Claire nudged his side. ‘Try it again, one more time.’ Owen did as she asked, repeating the steps as _finally_ the bike beneath her roared to life. Claire grinned, her hold tightening on the gips as Owen chuckled low in her ear. He wouldn’t let the bike go anywhere. 

This was it, the feeling of power as the engine underneath her purred, that Owen spoke of. The reason why he would never give up his bike. They’d argued about it. Not seriously, but bickering had been involved. She didn’t consider it safe. Owen didn’t care, it was the power he was addicted to now, the feel, the control. He had a thing for locking his thighs around the things he adored. 

‘It’s gonna take some tinkerin’, but I’ll get her going like she’s good as new soon enough.’ All he did was tinker with the machine, or so that was what she had gathered from his stories. Owen had practically built it from the ground up. Seeing it barely stutter to life must have hurt a lot more than she thought. 

He was apologising for the shape the vehicle was in, sorry that she wasn’t running exactly how he described. It was a far stretch from his description, but it was far from disappointing. Claire had never allowed herself to get close to his bike. She had seen it many times sitting about the island, waiting for him exactly where he left it. She never dreamt of sitting astride it, Owen’s face close enough to hers that all it took to touch him was leaning in just an inch. 

‘It’s wonderful, Owen.’ She grinned, barely able to hear her quiet words over the rumble of the engine. They were sharing things, even if it was a lifestyle they bred on the island, it was something. The walls of communication struggled as of late. With the arrival of their old belongings Claire shut him out in an attempt to figure out what she wanted. 

He used his bike to pry her sealed doors open again. ‘Just wait ’til I get her on the road.’ He kissed her cheek, smile pulling at his lips. 

‘Don’t make me compete with your motorbike.’ She eyed him carefully, watching the little boy eagerness in his eyes, thankful that one of them had a spark of excitement for something. Owen shook his head, laughing. 

Nothing would ever compete with Claire. Not even his beloved bike.


	115. #115 - I'm Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bryc-dlls-hwrd: No. 18 ‘I’m alive … I can tell because of the pain’ and No. 25 ‘My nightmares are usually about losing you’.

 

She cooed at him quietly, voice low on a whisper as she leant over him, brushing the hair back from his forehead. His skin was still clammy, sweat seeping into his hair, his eyes glassy when he managed to open them, blinking at her without focus. 

‘Hey,’ She whispered slowly, eyes searching his face with worry. Owen blinked at her, a little different to the opening and closing of his eyelids he’d done when he woke. He was inquisitive to the distress he could read clearly on her face. ‘How’re you feeling?’ She focused on half petting his hair, brushing his dirty blond locks across the top of his head and down the side, edge of her palm grazing his ear. 

Claire had been so scared. Days ago she would have claimed to not care about the man’s wellbeing. Here she was now, sitting in the shell of her old life, bracing for the aftershocks worry glistening in her eyes. 

This was blow one. 

In the chaos that had erupted on Main Street Owen was injured. The pteranodon that took him down, also managed to dig a chunk out of his side. Claire barely noticed all night, and for a few days following until Owen knocked on her room door. They’d spent all their time together since the second he promised to help find her nephews. A total of four days together and she barely noticed that he was injured. Instantly, Claire was guilty. 

He’d collapsed the second she pulled the door open, his face grey, hand clutching his side. The cut had festered and infection seeped into his blood. Claire wasted no time in calling for an ambulance. 

‘I’m alive,’ He croaked sounding slightly disappointed, war still flashing in his eyes. ‘… I can tell because of the pain’. It had not been an easy few days. They barely slept, hardly managing more than an hours sleep without being jolted away with a fright. She should have known then. On the nights where he let her curl herself around him. She should have _known_ he was injured. But, she didn’t. He managed to keep it from her just as he had kept his bad dreams. Owen encouraged her to share, to talk through what she saw only so he could talk her through her irrational mind. 

She winched when he winched holding a plastic cup to his lips. Claire listening as he drank from it greedily, removing the cup from his grasp when he’d had too much. She scowled at him, frown caught in the crease between her eyebrows. 

He was still groggy. It was hardly fair to pounce on him now, but Owen opened the gate and let her in willingly when he tilted his head cautiously and asked a quiet; ‘What’s wrong?’ 

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You have to tell me these things, Owen.’ She frowned as she nodded towards his side. His doctors assured her that he would be back to full health in no time. He just needed a stiff dose of antibiotics and lots of rest. The wound had been cleaned and redressed, but his body was still punishing him for neglect. ‘I need you to let me _in_.’ 

If he thought it ironic to hear that from her, he didn’t say anything about it. Owen only frowned in return, eyes darting away from hers, picking a bare patch of hospital wall to focus on instead. ‘I can’t,’ He told her quietly almost ashamed. 

‘Why not?’ She asked, returning her elbows to the end of his bed, one hand carding through his hair again as she half leant over the top of him. He mumbled something about her not being ready to hear it, that he had a responsibility to protect her and that there was some things a person didn’t need to know. Claire only pressed him harder, tempted to stick her fingers in his wound just to torture him to admit it. She wasn’t that cruel.

‘Because,’ He whispered, ‘My nightmares are usually about losing you’. Claire’s hand stopped it’s movement in his hair, caught off guard momentarily. That was not what she expected. He was supposed to be ashamed that all he could see was the Indominus Rex chasing him, devouring him whole, his girls - his Velociraptors - turning on him, betraying him, before finally being destroyed. He wasn’t supposed to sleep fearfully because he was worried about her. 

‘I …’ Claire started before quickly finishing, her mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish, unsure on what she wanted to say. He watched her with hesitant green eyes, begging her not too flee. He couldn’t chase her if she got up and left, Claire would have a head start. Although she’d probably stop running if he forced himself out of that bed, if only to scold him for the action. 

Claire cupped his face, taking him in just as intensely as he was watching her. ‘Have you got me?’ She asked quietly, watching as he looped three fingers around her wrist, his digits completely circling her small joint. He nodded surely. ‘Good.’ Claire dropped a gentle, hesitant kiss to his lips. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Owen. You’re not losing me. I’m right here.’ She told him over and over until it felt like the words themselves were tattooed into his bones, until his brain finally understood it. 

It didn’t stop his nightmares. But, when he healed, the hospital allowing him release fighting off the thoughts of losing her were suddenly easier with Claire in his bed, tucked right beside him. 


	116. #116 - Plain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: No. 12 ‘I’ve been buying the wrong underwear’.

She heard his grunt before she felt his presence, small smile gracing her cheeks as she bit down on her bottom lip. This was in no means an attempt at seduction, but if he wanted to see it that way she certainly wouldn’t stop him.

Claire pressed up on her toes again, trying to reach the far corner of the cupboard as Owen’s shirt rose up the sides of her legs. The further she pushed her arm, shifting her weight onto one leg, the further the shirt rose until it was sitting above her hips. 

She felt the cool air on the backs of her thighs before she felt the warm touch of his hands on her hips. His breath was hot in her ear, lips pressed to her cheek as she squeezed her hips. Claire threw a hand back, winding her fingers through his hair as she settled flat on her feet again. 

‘How was work?’ She asked as Owen pulled her against him tightly, his hands flexing against her skin. He hummed, the sound more like a soft growl as she kissed her cheek. New employment was a hit and miss. Especially for Owen. He was used to his routine, first with the Navy and again at Jurassic world. Slotting himself into a new life was taking its toll. 

His kiss trailed across her cheek before descending down her neck, and eventually her spine. Claire stood still, trying not to fidget under his touch as she sunk her teeth further into her lip. 

Owen was on his knees when his hands on her hips encouraged her to turn around. He was slow in sliding his shirt back up over her hips, his admiration focused entirely on the grey cotton briefs she was wearing. 

He kissed her hip, lips to cotton, thumb rubbing a line between her skin and the elastic of her underwear. Claire laughed, ‘Oh god. I’ve been buying the wrong underwear’. Her words turned into a breathless sigh as both sensation and humour tried to drown her. ‘You should have told me I was wasting time and money at Victoria Secret.’ She joked as he tugged her very plain briefs down her legs. 

Owen hummed, kissing his way back up her legs as Claire felt her knees buckle. It never took much with him. She already knew that, Owen was all about her it didn’t matter what she was wearing or doing. He had told her once she was seduction on two legs, even when fully dressed. 

It still managed to catch her off guard when she thought she had caught his triggers. He always knew how to press her buttons, what made her tick and exactly how to make her legs shake. She was still trying to figure him out. What she thought had been a reaction to her wearing his shirt, had actually been the small sight of her underwear beneath it. 

Although she was desperate to know his secrets, Claire enjoyed the surprise and the unpredictability of it all. ‘Buy whatever you want,’ Owen hummed, his voice vibrating across her skin. ‘All that matters is that I get to take it off.’ He grinned up at her devilishly a spark flashing in his eye as Claire whimpered, hand dropping to his head and holding on tight. 


	117. #117 - Veggie Patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all—the—dancers: No. 22 ‘Can I open my eyes now?’

He’d never seen - well, _felt_ \- her so giddy in all the time Owen had known her. Claire had her moments of complete childishness, bouncing with joy or giggling over something or another. This was next level sort of stuff, her hands clasped over his eyes as she practically vibrated against him.

‘Can I open my eyes now?’ He asked one hand covering hers on his face. He wouldn’t pry her grip away unless she gave him express permission, but her hands were small, and she was standing on the tips of her toes. He was ensuring that he didn’t accidentally see her surprise before she revealed it.

Claire denied him his sight as she giggled in his ear, body still pressed to his as he walked into the edge of the kitchen counter. She apologised on a laugh, steering him away from the offending fixture in their home. 

Owen squeezed his eyes closed. Partially, he was terrified that she would walk him into something else, but mostly so he could focus on a mental map of their home. If she had walked him into the counter, allowing the edge to stab his hip. She veered him to the left, leaving so few options for where she was leading them. Definitely not upstairs, which ruled out one hope for whatever surprise she had in store. 

The back door slid open. Both of her hands were on his face, the mental visual of his partner sliding the door open with her feet made him chuckle. ‘Can I open them now?’ He asked, Claire groaned beside him, their feet padding on their small deck. 

She counted the steps, one, two, three, both hands still on his face. Owen had moved up and down those three steps so many times without thought, stepping down them now was full of anticipation - and fear that he would misjudge and fall. 

The last thing he had expected as he was leaving work, was Claire pouncing on him as soon as he stepped through the door. She didn’t wait for a hello, or let him toe off his shoes. Her hands were over his eyes in a second, her voice telling him she had a surprise. 

Claire encouraged him to kneel in the grass, one hand leaving his face as she pushed him around until she was content with where he was sitting. ‘Open,’ She told him, watching as his eyes opened only to be greeted, face to face with one of the smallest tomatoes he’d ever seen. 

They were in Claire’s corner of the yard, her small veggie patch she was determined to nurture since they bought the property. It had taken quite a bit of trial and error, but finally, something was growing. He grinned at her, proud that hard work paid off, Claire absolutely beaming. 

He kissed her, smiling against her lips. ’Close your eyes again.’ She told him, watching his face intensely until he sat cross legged on the grass and squeezed his eyes closed. 

‘You can’t grow a whole viable vegetable that _fast_ , Claire.’ He teased, chuckling at his own joke, determined that he would never let her live it down if she procured a full size vegetable for him. He wouldn’t put it past her. Claire’s want for fresh veggie’s had started as a small mindless hobby, until it turned into an obsession. The woman desperate for a thriving veggie patch. 

He could almost _hear_ her roll her eyes as she told him that she knew that. She wasn’t stupid enough to pull that trick, next week maybe, when her tiny little tomato had withered and died. Then she would offer him one bought from the farmers market. ‘Like with most things, they need time to grow.’ Claire leant in and kissed his cheek. Something small fell into his hand, unrecognisable without his vision. 

Claire waited a beat. Owen could feel her excitement turn into nerves as she whispered ever so softly that he could open his eyes again. He understood the nerves almost immediately. In the palm of his hand sat a pregnancy test. Owen didn’t have much experience with the small sticks, but he knew without really knowing - she wouldn’t have shown him otherwise - that it was positive. 

He stuttered, mouth falling open as he dragged his eyes from his hands to her face. They had barely consented to trying, only a couple of months into their ‘if-it-happens-it-happens’ plan. Here she was, presenting him with something they’d only just realised they wanted. 

‘A baby?’ He asked her, seeking out verbal confirmation. Claire bit her lip, watery eyes simmering in the evening light. She nodded once before he pulled her into his lap kissing raining down on her face as he squeezed her tight - without causing harm. 


	118. #118 - Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: No. 16 ‘If you want, we could go together’ and No. 37 ‘Can you just shut up for five minutes?’

 

‘If you want, we could go together.’ Owen offered quietly, perched on the edge of the hotel mattress. 

Claire paced in front of him, back and forth in the small space they’d acquired as their own. She was driving him half mad, biting at her nails as her brow creased caught in her own anxiety. Masrani Global had put out the call. Hearings started in the morning, and they wanted Claire bright and early. 

Owen only shook his head when he found out, watching the shake in her hands that had been almost constant since they left the island. She was in no state to place an account on her version of events. They wanted Owen too, just not in the morning, they promised to call for him in a day or two. If he had to threaten someone in order to stay by Claire’s side, he would. Regardless of what Masrani Global wanted, Owen put Claire first. 

He told her as much, running his mouth as he ranted that they weren’t getting her - not alone, not when she was like this. She barely slept any longer than an hour before waking, dripping with sweat, eyes wild, movements panicked. 

Claire glared at him, ‘Can you just shut up for five minutes?!’ Her worlds were spat on a growl before she dropped to the bed beside him. She was too stubborn for her own good, convinced she could stand before Masrani Global executives and not break under her own pressure. 

She buried her face in her hands, frustration forcing another growl out of her. 

Owen didn’t move, only stayed where he was hands handing between his knees. ‘This is a mess,’ She groaned, scrubbing her hands over her face. ‘I have to do this, Owen. There’s no out, no _in a week_. I have to give them my side of the story and I have to do it tomorrow.’ She pulled her hands from her face, one landing in her lap as the other sought his out. 

Owen squeezed her hand. ‘For survival, right?’ She asked him quietly, revelling in the warmth of his skin against hers, his large hand practically swamping her. 

He nodded, contemplating on whether or not he should talk. She _had_ asked him to shut up. ‘If you thought for a second that you were going in there alone you were grossly mistaken.’ Owen raised their joined hands only to bring them to hid lips so he could kiss her hands softly. ‘I know you’re strong enough to do it alone, Claire. Just know, that it doesn’t mean you have to.’

It was Claire’s turn to squeeze his hand, offering Owen a small thankful smile. 

‘Do you want to try and get some sleep?’ He offered, watching the grey marks on her face, almost willing them to go away. She looked as exhausted as he felt, near ready to collapse. Claire started to shake her head and he knew why; she was scared of the nightmares. She changed her mind quickly, nodding shyly as she crawled further up the bed only to settle on the pillows. When he laid down next to her Claire didn’t hesitate in wrapping herself around him. 

‘Thank you,’ She breathed, almost missing the kiss he dropped to the top of her head. She nuzzled closer to him, tightening the grip she had on his arm. ‘Why are you so safe and warm?’ Her words were muffled by his skin, face pressed deep against his shoulder. 

Owen chuckled, his free hand stroking her air in an attempt to lull the exhausted woman to sleep. If safe and warm was what she thought of him, small body pressed tightly to his side, Owen could die happy with that high opinion. 


	119. #119 - Planned Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blackhawkrising: No. 9 ‘Don’t call me that,’ and No. 24 ‘I will if you will’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the numbered prompts. Thanks to everyone who sent one in, I hope you all enjoyed the little drabbles. Regular prompts will return to normal now, until I’m stupid enough to reblog one of those lists again.

 

‘Don’t call me that,’ Claire hissed, half glaring at the man beside her. They lay entangled in his bedsheets, each of them still panting from the somewhat aggressive early morning sex they’d managed to fumble into. 

‘ _Chicken,’_ He breathed, still trying to catch his breath as his chest rose and fell far quicker than it usually did, lungs working over time. They fought and they fucked, Claire taking it out on his skin, long nails digging in deep as Owen brought the pace to a squick succession of his snapping hips. 

He rolled to his side, kissing her shoulder fondly as he repeated the word. Claire only glared harder. ‘It’s just one sick day,’ He whined, fingers skirting up her belly, his touch barely there, but enough to make her skin tense. ‘No one will care, the park will manage just fine.’ He wanted to spend the day in bed, the windows open, cool spring breeze bellowing in the curtains as she screamed his name all afternoon long. 

‘No.’ She told him firmly, moving to get up. Claire knew if she didn’t leave in the next ten minutes she would be late. If she was late, her mood for the whole day would evaporate - which honestly would be a waste after her fucked her so thoroughly. Though, Claire hesitated, maybe that was for the best. Better to not have everyone looking at her funny because her _skin is glowing_ or her _smile_ _is too happy_. 

‘I will if you will,’ Owen pleaded, throwing a heavy arm around her waist, essentially locking her down. Claire groaned, her eyes rolling as his thick fingers held tight to her hip. 

‘Isn’t that the point, Owen.’ Simultaneous sick days, both of them calling in after the other, struck by some sudden but serious illness that would disappear by tomorrow morning. Owen grinned against her shoulder, teeth biting down before he lavished the spot with his tongue. 

‘Exactly, right,’ He hummed, mustering the energy to lift his body in order to tower over hers. His lazy attention to her shoulder, moved to her neck, sinking down her sensitive skin to her collarbone. He nipped once, then twice, as the hand on her hip moved to the inside of her thigh, thumb rubbing small circles on her soft skin.

Claire moaned, unable to control herself, before she groaned and muttered a begrudging, ‘ _Fine’._ He heard her hand hit the nightstand, seeking out her phone without having to move too far. ‘Keep it to yourself for twenty seconds,’ She warned, dialling Zara’s number. If he so much as thought that teasing her while she was on the phone was a good idea, Owen would have another thing coming to him.

He stilled his hand, unable to stop himself from kissing the skin of her neck lightly as she waited to be connected. Flustered and frustrated, Claire kept the call quick leaving no room for argument on Zara’s end. The second her phone fell from her hand, dropping to the bed, Owen continued all previous activity, devilish smirk slipping across his face. 

‘Your turn,’ Claire told him, nudging the man in the ribs as his affection moved south. Owen shook his head, lips caught around her breast until he met her glare. 

He pulled away, letting go of her skin with a slight _pop_ as he levelled his face with hers. ‘I already told Barry I wasn’t coming in.’ Again, the smirk crept across his face as Claire gaped at him, completely confounded with how devious he was she she smacked him in the shoulder. 

She opened her mouth to scold him, rolling her eyes at how childish he was. Taking the day off before she had agreed, and doing it on the pretence that she _would_. Claire didn’t have the chance to speak before his mouth crashed down on hers, successfully silencing her until her shock shifted into quiet little moans. 


	120. #120 - Charlie and the Miscarriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can you write about Claire maybe miscarrying baby number three?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you didn't want this. But someone asked, and I - at the end of the day - do call the shots. Unfortunately I am a sucker for this stuff.

Charlie had everything down to a strict routine by the time she was eleven-years-old. At night, her parents kissed her on the head and tucked her into bed, only a handful of minutes after they had done the same for her sister. In the morning, she would wake to Mom or Dad in the kitchen, preparing breakfast with tired smiles and plans for their day. 

When she woke that morning, they were gone. The nighttime routine had gone the same as it always had for an unpredictable Friday night. Instead of her mother, or her father, Charlie found her Aunt Lorna standing in the kitchen waiting, with tapping fingers, for her toast to pop. The woman only offered her a small smile, lying to Charlie’s face about the known whereabouts of her parents when the young girl asked. 

Telling the eleven-year-old, and her sleepy six-year-old sister that her father rushed Claire to the hospital in the early hours of the morning was not the first thing they needed to hear when they woke up. Charlie thought different, curious as to where her parents were and why. They never did this, never unplanned. Charlie knew everything before it happened. 

Lorna kissed her nieces’ cheeks, wishing them a beautiful morning as she asked them what they wanted for breakfast. Elliot didn’t question her unexpected appearance. Charlie only pouted, repeating the question she had asked two times now. ‘Where’s Mom and Dad?’ It was a Saturday, they shouldn’t have been anywhere but at home. Lorna didn’t answer. Her niece watched her curiously, fingers fidgeting in her lap as she wondered on her parents. 

Owen and Claire didn’t manage to shuffle in the door until two in the afternoon, Owen still in his pyjamas, Claire in clothes Charlie knew were not hers. ‘Where were you?’ Charlie asked with a quiet voice, almost scared to know the answer. Elliot and Lorna were buried in the house somewhere drawing or reading a book. Charlie had optioned to sit by the door, desperate for her parents to come home.

She didn’t miss the paleness of her mother’s skin, the grey on her fingers and the bags under her eyes. Charlie couldn’t remember a time where her mother looked so ill. That thought alone stirred worry in her gut. Claire forced a smile as she reached for her daughter, pulling away from the arm Owen had wrapped around her waist. 

When the word _hospital_ hit Charlie’s young ears the girl’s heart leapt up into her throat. Her mother pulled her into a hug that Charlie was unwilling to let go of, squeezing her mother tightly and missing the woman’s small hiss. 

‘C’mon,’ Owen encouraged, trying to move them both down the hallway. ‘We gotta get Ma tucked up in bed.’ Charlie watched the adults with wide worried eyes as she followed them, noting how her mother struggled with the stairs, wincing with every step. 

‘Are you going to die?’ Charlie asked quietly, voice shaking as she watched her mother climb into bed, Owen draping a blanket over her and promising to fetch a heat pack. Claire sighed softly, shaking her head at her daughter as she beckoned Charlie forward. The girl wasted no time, climbing eagerly onto the bed and burying herself against Claire’s side. 

Owen raised a brow, watching as his eldest daughter curled into her mother’s embrace. Charlie seeking comfort from Claire was a rarity, and here she was, clearly aware that something was wrong, and in response was desperate for reassurance. He readjusted the blanket, kissing Charlie’s cheek before Claire’s. 

‘Why weren’t you here when I woke up?’ Charlie asked, voice slightly muffled as she played with the pendant handing from Claire’s necklace. It had been a Mother’s Day gift from a few years earlier, something Owen took Charlie and Elliot to the jeweller to pick out. Two silver rings on a simple chain, interlocked with the other. Each had the names of her daughters and their birthdates along with a third in rose-gold for Max’s memory. That way, in Elliot’s young intellect, Claire would never be without them. 

Claire stroked her daughter’s hair, heart beating wildly in her chest. She was torn between the truth and a lie. Was eleven too young to find out that sometimes your body rebelled? How could she tell her daughter that in a matter of months she was supposed to have a new sibling? There was no baby now, no soon to be brother or sister. Just an empty feeling in the pits of Claire’s stomach. She couldn’t tell the young girl of the uncomfortable pain she woke to, fear rising in her chest the second she recognised it. There were no words to describe the instant worry on Owen’s face when he woke to her fingernails digging into his skin, or the sound of her desperate whimper. There was no telling of the way her stomach plummeted at the unmistakable sight of blood on her fingers, her hope already shattered. She couldn’t tell Charlie any of those things, not after she saw the way her daughter responded to Max’s passing four years ago. It was too much to bear, no matter how strong her young daughter was. 

‘I wasn’t feeling well, bug.’ She kissed the top of Charlie’s head. 

Charlie frowned, her body tensing. ‘That’s not good enough.’ Claire could hear the pout. She rolled her eyes involuntarily, questioning why she and Owen chose to raise headstrong daughters. If she hadn’t worried about their wellbeing as adults, maybe they shouldn’t have taught them to question everything. ‘We don’t go to the hospital if we’re not feeling well. The hospital is for _emergencies_ and _dying._ ’ And broken bones, Charlie mentally ruled that one out. In her mind, broken bones were not an emergency. They were almost a yearly occurrence just in time for her regular check ups. 

‘It was an emergency.’ Claire offered quietly, her hand keeping up the gentle strokes to Charlie’s hair. Owen’s voice echoed in her head, insisting that they went to the E.R. _‘You passed out last time, Claire. It’s not happening again.’_ He was terrified of loosing her, even though she promised it wouldn’t happen. 

‘What kind?’ She wouldn’t let it rest, and Claire didn’t expect her to. 

Her Ma sighed, exhaling a deep breath as she closed her eyes. ‘Charlie,’ She started trying to rearrange her thoughts. There was no getting out of this conversation, even if she could distract the girl, Charlie would only bring it up later. ‘Do you remember when I was pregnant with Elliot and again with Max? Daddy and I sat you down and said you mustn't tell anyone else until we said it was okay.’ The girl nodded, remembering how displeased she was and how she only wanted to run straight to her grandmother and dob on them. She kept her eyes on the circles of silver on her mother’s necklace. ‘The first three months of pregnancy are almost always a grey area. We told you not to tell anyone in case something went wrong.’ She got another slow nod from her daughter. ‘Charlie,’ She used her name to grab her attention. ‘Yesterday I was two-and-a-half months pregnant. Today I am not.’ 

‘Something went wrong.’ Charlie supplied quietly. Claire nodded. ‘Like with Max?’ It felt so strange to hear that name crop up in conversation, they had gone too long without talking about him. Claire shook her head at the last one, grimacing as she knew she would have to explain it to her daughter. 

‘It’s called a miscarriage. That’s why Daddy had to take me to the hospital in the middle of the night. We didn’t wake you because we didn’t want you to worry.’ Charlie always worried. She held up a great pretence of nonchalance but deep down she just needed to know everyone was okay. 

‘Are you okay?’ Claire nodded easily kissing her daughter's hair as she hummed. She was still sore, muscles aching from her body’s violent expulsion of the tissue that was developing into her fourth child. Claire kept trying to tell herself it was for the best. They were too old for a new baby, Owen growing far too close to fifty for his own liking. They were well settled into their lives and routine for the sudden disruption that came with a newborn. ‘We don’t need any more babies, Elliot is enough.’ Charlie told her mother honestly, eliciting a sorrow filled laugh from the woman.

‘Elie is enough, isn’t she?’ At six, Elliot was still Claire’s cuddly little baby. She had put her foot down, time and time again when Owen prodded for a fourth child, claiming Elliot was it. The trauma of loosing Max was enough for Claire to flat out say no. They agonised over their decision for weeks too many before letting themselves give inBut when she saw the positive plus on the home pregnancy test Claire couldn’t help the small flutter of excitement. It was mixed with dread, terrified of how much more their schedules could contract and expand and of what could go wrong. She was happy though. The woman who didn’t want any children, to begin with, was full of warmth at the idea of a fourth baby. And now she was gone just like her brother before her. 

‘And you too,’ Owen offered his voice adding to the conversation as he reentered the room. Their daughters were all they would ever need. Although the excitement of a new baby almost had him bursting at the seems, they were happy where they were, who they were with and what they had. He ran a hand through Charlie’s hair, smiling softly at his wife before he wedged a heat pack between them, determined to relieve as much of Claire’s discomfort as quickly as he could.

He sat at Claire’s feet, where Charlie’s legs were _just_ trying to reach, his hand on her thigh rubbing soothing circles. ‘I’m a little sad,’ Charlie told them with a pout as she peered at her father from her mother’s chest. They told her that it was okay to feel sad, they felt the same. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. ‘Does it happen a lot?’ She asked curiously, pulling herself back from her mother just a little, trying to read her face. Curious Charlie was all about two things: the information, and the facial expression. She judged everything off body language. 

‘Everybody is different,’ Claire offered, she didn’t want to introduce Charlie to the heartbreak of the world. In any itst’s forms, let alone this one. There were variables to consider, and lifestyles, medical conditions. There were women who lived their whole lives without loosing a baby and then there were women on the other end of the scale who no matter what they did, they couldn’t carry to term. Charlie didn’t need to know that, not just yet. 

‘Has it happened to you more than now?’ Claire felt Owen’s hand tense on her leg. She slipped her hand to his, squeezing in an attempt to comfort before she answered her daughter honestly. 

Her voice was a quiet whisper when she spoke. ‘Twice before.’ There had been two pregnancies before Elliot was conceived, one they had planned and another they hadn’t known about until it was too late. Regardless, they both ended painfully. Owen squeezed his wife’s hand back. It had been a long time since they thought about that. Quietly, they were both relieved that their home was only filled with two children, and not five if each of her pregnancies had been carried to term. They had enough on their plate with just the two. 

Charlie opened her mouth, ‘I think you’re cursed.’ She told her mother just as Elliot slipped into the room. The littlest Grady climbed onto the bed, the rustling of sheets her only give-away to the woman who had her back to the door. Claire quietly promised that Charlie could ask her or Owen any question she wanted to know the answer too, before she shifted to embrace Elliot. ‘Someone realised you were home,’ Lorna apologised as she stepped into the room seconds after Elliot. Owen shrugged, she was bound to realise at some point. Clearly, her routine was not as disrupted as Charlie’s had been, the youngest Grady barely batting an eyelash when she saw him in the kitchen minutes earlier. ‘If you want, I can take the girls for the rest of the afternoon, keep them out of your hair?’ Lorna offered, she’d been there before, each time taking toddler Charlie for the evening so her parents could clear their thoughts. 

This time Claire shook her head, shifting so she had an arm around each daughter. All she wanted was her girls close, where they were warm and comforting, and right where she could see them. 


	121. #121 - Elliot and the First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emmetbrown: How about first day of school and separation anxiety for one or both Owen & Claire?
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: Elliot’s first day of school or Charlie’s. And Owen and Claire in tears because their babies are so big.
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: Can you write something about Elliot’s separation anxiety? Maybe going to kindy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t going to post this tonight. But, my chances of getting it up before Uni are slim. So here, dig in. 
> 
> I know too that some of these prompts could have fit Charlie, which would have resulted in two fics. Considering I’ve had a few of them for a long while they’re getting tossed together.

 

‘You’re going to have a wonderful day,’ Claire beamed. The smile was fake, her words forced on a reluctant sigh as she tugged on the edges of her baby daughter’s school uniform. Making sure she was neat, the creases in place regardless of the fact that her tiny five-year-old was _swimming_ in her clothes. 

Claire blinked back tears when she felt Owen’s hand on her shoulder, the sound of his knees cracking and the heavy weight as he crouched down beside them. She ran her hands over Elliot’s hair one more time, giving the little girl a wobbly smile as she took in the little girl, _already so big._

Elliot looked grey with nerves, her skin colour completely off as she swayed in front of her parents. Her bag was big enough to fit her inside, swamping her as she stood a few feet away from the caterpillar she was supposed to line up on. ‘Mommy.’ She wobbled, the word not a question, or a statement, but a scared little plea. 

Claire stood, like Owen told her too the night before. They’d been going over this for weeks, almost a year trying to anticipate everyone’s move in order to not upset the little girl or her mother. Owen could never describe Claire as fragile, but there was one spot, tucked into her ribs reserved specifically for Elliot. Press there and the woman would fall apart. 

Owen shook his head when she turned wide eyes on him, desperate to crouch down and take her little girl in her arms. He crouched down again, keeping a foot between them, but enough that he was at Elliot’s height. ‘Mommy and I will be right here at three o’clock to pick you up.’ Elliot shook her head. ‘Right here by the tree.’ He repeated, pointing to the tree beside Charlie. Elliot shook her head again. 

‘No, Daddy, I don’t want to stay.’ Elliot’s green eyes glistened, the sun kissed skin on her face turning red as the upset within her started to build. She shook her head again, little pig tails and ribbons flying. He felt Claire tense beside him the second Elliot’s bottom lip wobbled, her fingers fidgeting in front of her. 

‘You have to stay, baby. It’s what the big kids do.’ Charlie nodded beside him, assuring her sister it wasn’t all that bad. Elliot wavered, uncertain as she looked to her mother, Claire standing with her face turned away. It only started trembles in Elliot’s little body. ‘You’ll be fine. We met Miss Lu last week, and you’ve got Mary from ballet right there.’ He pointed to the little brunette standing a few feet over with her parents, almost itching to come over and say hello to Elie. ‘And Charlie is just two buildings over.’ He pointed to a window, describing the artwork stuck to it in order to bring it to Elliot’s attention. 

The girl nodded slowly, still hesitant as Owen beckoned Mary over. The girl came over quickly, grinning at Owen as she greeted him as _Mr. Grady._ He took Mary’s hand, and Elliot’s and joined the girls together. 

Elliot broke away from her friend immediately, eyes blown wide as she realised Mary was a decoy pulling her away from her parents. Desperately she latched her arms around Claire’s legs, not letting go until her mother’s hands slid under her arms and lifted her up onto her hip. 

‘We can do school tomorrow?’ Elliot asked, fingers entangling themselves in her mother’s necklace. She was still shaking even though she was caught up in the safety net that was her mother. 

Claire shook her head, realising very quickly that she was the only parent in the yard holding their five-year-old. ‘No, you have to do school today.’ She kissed the girl’s cheek, mournful to let her go. Claire took a deep breath, refocusing herself as she crouched to put Elliot back on her feet. The girl shook her head, small hands curled tightly around Claire’s collar, wild fight in her eyes. ‘Here,’ Claire offered, tearing a hand away from her daughter as she moved to undo the watch from her wrist. She adjusted it to Elliot’s wrist, tightening the bad as far as it would go. ‘When the little hand is here, and the big hand is here,’ She tapped the watch face bringing her youngest daughter’s attention to 2:50pm. ‘When the hands are on those numbers, you can look up and I will be right outside. _But_ , you have to wait. Charlie will come find you at recess and at lunch, okay?’

Elliot shook her head, tears burning in her green eyes. She didn’t have any time to protest when her teacher blew the whistle her students were supposed to respond to. Mary was back again, tugging on Elliot’s hand, this time successfully dragging the girl away. Charlie disappeared, running off to her own classroom as her parents stayed behind, watching as Elliot was pulled into her class, panic still etched across her young face. 

It wasn’t until Owen pulled Claire away, Elliot no longer in sight, their feet moving for the carpark that his wife started to cry. ‘You did so well,’ He whispered against her skin, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. ‘She’ll be fine. You know that, she knows that - her teacher knows to call if Elliot is in distress.’ She didn’t like the sound of that word, flinching when she said it. 

‘I feel ridiculous,’ Claire muttered, wiping at the tears on her face. 

‘Hey now, let’s not forget, you had to drag me away on Charlie’s first day. She didn’t even care that she was starting school.’ Claire laughed at the memory, remembering her confidant eldest daughter skipping away from the both of them to join the very line Elliot had been dragged to that morning. Charlie could careless that her father was upset, desperate to pick her up and run away. He had suggested homeschooling far too many times to count. Thankfully his daughter was _excited_ for school. 

He had cried a little in the car, as Claire drove them home rolling her eyes before they settled into the freedom of their quiet home. It didn’t take much to take his mind off Charlie’s departure. 

‘For now,’ He announced, opening the passenger side door for his wife. ‘We’re going to go down the street, get you a coffee, some raisin toast.’ Claire shook her head as he closed the door, her eyes watching him as he moved around the front of the car before climbing in behind the wheel. 

‘I’ll be late for work.'

Owen shook his head. ‘Jen’s holding your calls all day. You don’t have to go in. We can laze around, remember what it’s like to be people together, not just people with children before we pick them up and are thrust right back into pandemonium.’ Claire rolled her eyes as he raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. She laughed, sniffling slightly as she nodded asking him to keep her mind off it. 

‘On it.’ Owen promised, taking her phone from her lap and switching it off. Her panicked look only caused him to drop a hand to her thigh, squeezing gently. ‘The school know, that for today, they call me _if_ anything goes wrong.’ 

Sometimes he drove her mad, they clashed in all the little ways. Small, important details exploding in maximum drama. This time though. Claire was glad for the distraction, glad that he had stepped up and organised something for the better, that wasn’t last minute or poorly planned. She squeezed the hand on her leg softly, thanking him on a quiet whisper as she tried not to think about Elliot at her first day of school. 

*

Her little blonde head appeared in the window at 2:53pm, wide little eyes scanning across the schoolyard. Owen and Claire stood exactly where they promised her they would, Owen’s arm wrapped around Claire’s waist as she leant into him. It had been a while since they spent quality time together, the two of them revelling in the day off to just _be_ with one another without disruption. It had improved Claire’s nerves greatly. 

‘You coddle her,’ Owen told his wife, as Elliot’s expression relaxed in the window. Regardless, she still looked as though she was being held against her will. 

Claire stiffened, ‘You coddle Charlie’. There really wasn’t an argument there and yet, he could argue back. Charlie was independent and completely free of his attempts to parent her. Owen only coddled Charlie when she sort it out. Which happened causally, but never on the regular. Elliot hung onto every second of her mother - even when she was sleeping, on occasion.

Owen chuffed, ‘Those two were cut from a _very_ different cloth.’ 

‘You know how I feel,’ Claire grizzled, trying not to get annoyed with her husband. Elliot’s birth and the first handful of days following were traumatic for both adults. Their daughter seemed content in causing a fuss, but the resulting issue had developed in an inability for Claire to be any further than ten foot away from her daughter. Every cry of need, for hunger or attention, was attended to the second it warbled from her infant mouth. Every request for a cuddle was fulfilled.

Elliot didn’t attend daycare, instead, the little girl bypassed her kindergarten years in a corner of her mother’s office, learning quietly on her own. She was socialised through Charlie’s activities, and her own, attending ballet from age three, Claire always there to observe. 

Sometimes Owen wondered if they actually managed to cut the umbilical cord.

She was the first out the door when the bell rang, Miss Lu letting her class out calmly. Elliot ran across the yard, barrelling into her mother’s knees and almost knocking her over with sheer unexpected force. 

Claire picked her up without issue, barely hesitating in lifting her daughter so Elliot could wrap her legs around her mother’s waist. She was crying, even as Claire pulled her head back to look at the girl, her cheeks bright red, her eyes harsh and bloodshot. ‘It took _forever_.’ She sobbed, body shaking in Claire’s arms as she tightened her grip around Claire’s neck. Her mother threw a look to Owen over the girl’s shoulder, terrified that they had pushed this too soon. Maybe school wasn’t right for Elliot, maybe Owen had been right the week before when he joked about his homeschooling idea again. 

Claire only wrapped her arms around her daughter, moving away from the prep gardens to go find Charlie. She shushed the girl quietly, trying to find reassurance and comfort as she rocked the girl in her arms instantly taken back to the child as an infant. 

Although she had grown up, she hadn’t gotten that far. Elliot was still her mother’s baby, and her father’s darling girl. They would go to the ends of the earth for her. If Elliot wasn’t ready for school, than she wasn’t ready, Claire was happy to hold it off until she was prepared. Owen knew it was something else, the girl was smart beyond words, Charlie had been exactly the same, but she had a dependancy on a certain redheaded woman who had raised her. 

All they needed was to loosen that grip, to pull some ties, and unfortunately force Elliot into the school environment for a little while longer. She would snap the connection on her own, not severing it completely - Owen would never wish on that - but loosing it off just a little so the girl could attend things without Claire holding her hand. 

Getting them both to agree was another story. He knew the next morning would come with a struggle. Elliot clearly traumatised by her day, just slightly, enough that he could predict hysterics in the morning, and Claire caving to her baby’s every whim. 

One day down. Twelve compulsory years to go. 


	122. #122 - Long Awaited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONS: a continuation of #106 - Previous Arrangement
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: ’Person A is pregnant but finds out just before Person B has gone on a six month long trip. When Person B returns Person A surprises them with their growing baby bump’. from @otpprompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted in the summary this connects to #106 - Previous Arrangement. 
> 
> Watch me ruin this AU. This is why I don't like doing sequels.

 

Claire sighed, long and slow, the breath leaving her lungs gradually. Her hand drew lazy circles on his hip bone as she studied his face. Owen in their bed; finally. It had been too long. Close to two years since he had last come home. It had been easier for Claire to meet him in Florida. No time was wasted there, every second of his leave was spent together from the second he was pardonedto the last minute before he had to report to duty again. 

He was _home_ in San Diego. ‘How much longer?’ She asked into the quiet, too scared to know the answer. It became ritual whenever they were together Claire asking how much longer he had left before they were reunited for good. 

Owen mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed in an attempt to focus. ‘’Nother month or three. We’re on the home stretch now, baby.’ They’d manage to shift two years down to small change, the weeks left short. Claire’s heart skipped a beat. They were so close to finalising their hellish two years. No longer would she have to board a plane to Florida just to see him. He’d be right there next to her in their bed, or watching sports down the hall. 

‘Good.’ She hummed, entangling their fingers as she shifted closer to him, a leg locking around one of his. Owen hummed back, keeping up the noise as silence settled between them. They didn’t have much to say, never did. It wasn’t so much a bad thing. They just simply enjoyed the other’s company. 

His time away gave them both a chance to think. The distance provided and opportunity to consider if what they had was the real deal or born in the ashes of trauma. Claire, who had been the first to have reservations about their relationship, was convinced that they would be okay. They loved each other, simply because they did, not because they had formed bonds out of the only other person who understood what they had been through. Despite Claire’s situation, she _knew_ it was real. They enjoyed the other’s company, tested each other, pushed boundaries but never too far. He kept her entertained, and when he was gone she missed him with her whole body. 

She watched his hand skate figure eights across her stomach amused that he hadn’t noticed. It was all so glaringly obvious to her, every terrifying new change, no matter how slight, was a change. If he noticed at all, he hadn’t said a thing. She was sure he had, Claire noticed the slightest touch of confusion on his face when he had cupped her breasts earlier, sure they were larger than he had last remembered. He had shaken it off, likely putting it down to his memory being a little fuzzy between their visits. It had been some time since they’d last seen each other, she could hardly blame him, biting down on overt fondness. 

Even from her angle, looking down at her body, Claire could see the slight pouch of fat that had become firm to the touch. He _had_ to have noticed that, and was just holding his tongue. She reached her hand out to still his, Owen’s palm falling flat to her abdomen. Even now he was cupping the tiniest of bumps. He looked up kissing her shoulder before meeting her eyes with a curious expression. 

Claire sucked in a deep breath, her chest rising and falling dramatically. ‘I’m pregnant, Owen.’ She told him quickly, on a faint breath, terrified of his reaction. She studied his face, too scared to look away, as a slow but sure smile spread across his cheeks, pulling his lips impossibly wide. 

‘My birthday?’ He asked curiously, referring to the last time they’d been together. Claire nodded, teeth buried in her bottom lip as he laughed. ‘It makes so much sense now.’ He covered her body with his, trailing kisses from her collar bone down to the curve of her stomach. 

‘So you did notice?’ She laughed, her hands curled in his hair. 

Owen shrugged, ‘I wasn’t really sure. Thought maybe you put on some weight, and I wasn’t going to be the one to point it out.’ 

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘It’s only going to get worse.’ Three months left. And this time, they were relocating him overseas. It was the only reason as to why Owen was home now. He’d packed up his assigned home in Jacksonville, Florida, and returned his belongings to her. They had a removals team that could have done it for him, but Owen insisted on doing it himself. If only to see Claire for a couple of days before he disappeared off the face of the earth, using up the final days of his leave. 

He had settled himself between her thighs, elbows beside her hips as he scattered kisses across her stomach. ‘I don’t want to go.’ He told her quietly, Claire hummed she didn’t want him to leave. ‘I’m going to miss so much.’ Claire sighed, sinking into the feeling of him here with her before he was gone for three months too long. 

‘You’ll be back before we know it.’ While she was already missing him now, Claire knew he’d be driving her crazy once he was home. 

*

She was antsy, waiting at the arrivals gate, eager excitement ready to spill out of her. It was that, or the incessant pressure on her bladder that had Claire shifting from foot to foot. She wasn’t alone at the gate, standing with a small selection of others, waiting just as eagerly as she for the passengers who would be stepping through the doors any second now. 

He was the first off, still in his gray and navy DPC Uniform, duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. Claire watched his face scan the small crowd in the airport terminal before his eyes landed on her face. She felt relief flutter in her gut. It was all over. He was done. Owen owed nothing to the Navy now. 

He wasted no time in stepping towards her, large grin on his face as he dropped his duffle a few feet from herand collected Claire in his arms. His hands were on her face, as he peppered her with tender kisses, Claire’s arms wrapping around his neck. 

She sighed when he pulled back, Owen inspecting the woman he had finally returned to. He dropped to his knees in front of her, knowing full well that people were watching them as the plane unloaded the rest of it’s passengers. Owen came face to face with the well of her belly, seven months pregnant. From their intermittent Skype calls Owen knew their son was causing his mother grief, the size of her belly forcing the woman to waddle rather than walk. He couldn’t wait to see it in person. 

Claire thought he would move to stand, done with circling his hands over her bump. He didn’t. Owen remained on his - one knee - the other foot firmly on the ground. It took ten seconds for Claire to realise what he was doing, and eleven for Owen to hold a ring box in his hand. ‘I’m home, and I’m planning on staying.’ He grinned at her, stupid, silly, lopsided grin that set her insides rolling. 

All attention in the terminal was turned towards them. Claire was uncomfortable with the attention but the answer hummed in her chest so wildly she was happy to pay them no mind. She pulled on his hands, begging him to stand up as she whispered _yes_ over and over and over again in answer to his quiet question.


	123. #123 - 2am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: ‘I work at a 24 hour convenience store and it’s 2:30am and you’re buying the weirdest things should I be concerned?’ AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a small-ish college AU, just because I don’t think I was explicit about that in the piece.

 

He had seen stranger things throughout the graveyard shift. Mostly, it was quiet each night the same from the last, every week feeling like groundhog day. But there was something that disturbed reality in those hours, the clock ticking past 1am and stirring unspeakable things. At least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. That there were other forces in play when he had his weird customers. 

It was that, or the simple perks of working a few blocks from a college campus. His late night customers mostly stoners, drunks, and overtired students stocking up on supplies to get them through the rest of the night. He would be one of them, if he wasn’t stupid enough to pick up the Tuesday night shift. 

Thanks to it’s slow moving atmosphere, Owen making an hour between customers on occasion. He got to know his regulars. The guys that always smelt of weed, buying too much food, the giddy drunk girls looking for Red Bull, and convenience store food that wasn’t _really_ food. Most of his customers wandered in in their pyjamas, seeking out the $1 coffee and bags of sweets, some even stocked up on sugary drinks. 

It was the night Claire Dearing shuffled in, tucked into an oversized sweater that baffled him the most. They shared a few classes together, bumping into each other in the hallways between lectures and tutorials. He drove her crazy, or at least he assumed from the way she usually rolled her eyes when she saw him heading towards her and the polite yet forced smile she would put on for him. 

Owen couldn’t help himself. He was smitten. Not only was she beautiful, long red hair, clear skin, the most adorable oversized glasses he had ever seen - and a fashion sense which colour palette belonged to the seventies - she was smart too. Not just any kind of smart, but _has an answer to everything_ smart. She was never wrong, but on occasion a little insecure. 

He stopped wiping down the counter to watch her wander in, his eyes on her as she snuffled through the isles, trying to anticipate what she was there to buy. She seemed to proper to be into recreational drugs, and too put together to be drunk. Claire was far too smart to be working on an assignment only hours before it was due, the sun leaving her behind. Maybe she ran out of milk? Or needed eggs - he was fairly sure they sold the last carton a few hours ago. Maybe there was a call for pancake mix, or nachos. Maybe she was bored. A few of his mates wandered down to the store when he was doing a shift, just to kill some time. 

She dawdled for what felt like hours, weaving in and out of the isles, picking something up and then putting it down. He sighed when she finally approached the counter, hands shoved into the pockets of her jumper head down. 

‘A pack of Crowns please,’ She mumbled, sliding a lighter across the counter as well. Cigarettes. She didn’t look like a smoker. Hell, he didn’t think she would be that way inclined. The lighter meant one of two things. Either, hers had run out and she needed another, or she didn’t smoke at all. 

‘Are you okay?’ He asked her, not moving from the counter. He wasn’t allowed to refuse service, but he was sure she wasn’t _that_ type of girl. Claire jumped, instantly recognising the sound of his voice as she lifted her head and pushed her glasses a little further up her nose. 

‘Owen,’ She breathed, caught off guard eyes already mid roll. He could tell, she couldn’t believe her luck and not in the good sense where she saw herself as _lucky_ but rather, _unlucky._

Her eyes were grey, when he knew them to be a fascinating emerald green. He could have put it to lack of sleep, he saw plenty of grey eyes on the graveyard shift. Grey, cold, dead, never ending and contradictorily on the brink of giving up. 

He smiled at her, closed lipped but wide, strong, trying not to over do it on his complete admiration of her. ‘You don’t look like you smoke.’ He told her after the clock behind him ticked a little too long, loud and demanding in their ears, counting down the seconds they left for silence. The lock was the only noise in the room above quietly playing music and the buzz of the refrigerators. 

Claire shuffled awkwardly, hands leaving her pockets to tug her jumper a little further past her jean clad hips. ‘Looks can be deceiving.’ There was no casual confidence in her voice, she was nervous. Owen wanted to revel in the moment, Claire Dearing caught out of her comfort zone. So rarely had he seen her stutter before she spoke up in class her opinion spilling out of her with no remorse. 

Owen shook his head, ‘I doubt that’. He watched her closer, light catching silver tear tracks on her cheeks. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’Owen caught the shake in her fingers, the jingle of her keys in hand. Panic or stress, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Regardless of what was going on in her head Owen was worried.

‘It’s really none of your concern,’ She shrugged it off. ‘Are you going to give me my cigarettes or not?’ Her tone was defensive, arms crossing over her chest, fingers flicking at the edge of the debit card she held. 

Owen shook his head. ‘No.’ He watched her turn, legs ready to move when he suggested something else. ‘I won’t sell them to you because it’s not what you want. But, I can make you a hot chocolate,’ Claire grimaced, eyeing the coffee machine in the front corner. ‘… With the good stuff … out the back.’ He shrugged towards the small inconspicuous door that lead to the small tearoom for employees on their rare breaks. At least the manager had the thought of mind to stock them with real products over the shit they sold. ‘I’m not supposed to let people in the booth, but ah, you can sit in here and we can talk … If you want to. You look like you need to.’ He knew no one was waiting for her, in the carpark at least. Her car was the only car out there, along with his by the side exit. 

He could swear he saw the second her back stiffened, new tears burning in her eyes as she shook her head quickly. ‘It’s nothing.’ Claire reaffirmed straightening her clothes that didn’t need to be straightened and pushing her glasses further up her nose. 

She was out the door before he could jump the side panel on the booth to get to her. Owen was half glad for that, he didn’t know what he would do once he reached her, hands on her shoulders trying his best to comfort the young woman as he muttered _there, there_. 

He was out of touch. 

Owen watched her move across the carpark. He stood facing the windows long after she’d gone, missing his clean up duties before the next sorry sucker arrived to take over. He felt like an idiot for not only stopping her, but denying her what she requested. He had no place and yet, Owen knew she didn’t need it. There was something far more difficult dictating the mind of Claire Dearing that night. 

He didn’t feel like he had made the right decision until he caught her red hair searching for him in their Cold War history lecture. She sat herself beside him, smiling a gentle good morning before depositing a travel mug of hot chocolate down on his table. The mug was clearly hers, a soft palette of colours with _The Little Mermaid_ on it. He chuckled, giving her a quizzical look as their lecturer introduced that week’s topic. 

‘It’s the good stuff.’ She promised, slight warmth flooding her cheeks. Her comment quickly explaining why his mug was so perfectly _hers._

Whatever had happened to her the other night, causing Claire to wander into his store in uncertain need for a smoke. Owen’s clumsy attempt at helping her out (which she declined) had made an impact.


	124. #124 - Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen surprises Claire for her birthday (which she doesn’t know he knows about).
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: Claire finds out that Owen hasn’t stopped talking/thinking about her since the day he met her, even after the date.
> 
> and
> 
> bigfan: pre-jw owen and barry use sam(senior asset manager) as a codename for claire when they talk about her, because let's be real owen wants to talk about her 24/7 because he has the biggest crush on her; claire hears them and is wondering who that sam is, she is also a little jealous because she think that owen likes her but what about this sam person??

 

Claire Dearing was not a jealous person. But, when she overheard Owen Grady talking about a _Sam_ she had never seen nor heard of, she felt her heart sink. So, she wasn’t _usually_ jealous, at least not in the traditional sense. There was no rage, but rather sorrow. The same sort of feeling she felt around family holidays, or when people were talking about going to the spa with their mom. 

It always slithered low in her stomach, a small ball of upset rather than jealous rage.

Their date was a disaster. She didn’t expect him to sit around and mope for long and yet she found herself a little upset to hear him talking so adamantly with Barry about some practical dream woman come to life. She rolled her eyes, but the hurt still hurt. 

‘I’m about to head out,’ Zara announced standing in the doorway to Claire’s office, smiling at her boss with tired eyes. Claire worked her too hard, she was only just starting to realise that. She nodded, thanking her assistant for the day. ‘Don’t forget to stop in at Owen’s tonight.’ Zara added, making her boss groan. 

She had been trying to get hold of Owen all day. He owed her reports and the last thing she wanted was to drive to the research sector to get them. Which, she did. He wasn’t there. Barry claimed he didn’t know Owen’s whereabouts, but Claire could tell he was keeping something from her. The two were thick as thieves and Owen wasn’t below using his friend to avoid Claire. 

Mildly she pissed off, and hurried back to the office. The weather had been particularly cruel which had felt like some form of cosmic balance. Force to roast instead of facing the real issues of the day. He didn’t answer his phone when she called him on the drive back to Command, nor was he anywhere in the building when she got there. There was no leave applied for nor _approved_ , he was on island, she just didn’t know where. 

Claire was in the midsts of contemplating the ins and outs of driving to his bungalow - something she had not thought of earlier, when Zara patched him through to her phone. He had heard - apparently - though the grapevine that she was looking for him. He was home, tucked up in bed, knocked out dead with the flu. Claire was skeptical. The paper work wasn’t finished, like she assumed, but he would rush to get it done if she needed it _that_ badly. 

She needed it two weeks ago. 

‘Take him some chicken soup,’ Zara grinned and for a second Claire thought she had winked. 

She shook her head, trying to dismiss her employee once again. Zara didn’t leave when Claire uttered that he could fax it to her when he was well enough. Claire never gave an extension. Not openly. She sometimes overlooked dates for those who were tied down with work (Owen mostly - who was never really tied down but slack). He was two weeks late already and she was going to wait until he was well. 

‘I won’t be appropriate for me to go over there,’ She told Zara with a shake of her head rolling her eyes at the thought of hearty chicken soup. Zara shrugged, slow smile nipping at her cheeks as she asked _why the hell not_. ‘He has a girlfriend.’ Claire hissed, eyes unable to remain on the woman in the door. 

She wasn’t jealous. She swore of it. Something just ached in her chest a little. 

Zara shook her head. ‘No, he doesn’t.’ She knew what he had planned. Owen wasn’t sick and today wasn’t just any day. He’d been planning it for close to a month, slipping Zara his complete paperwork weeks ago under the proviso that Claire would not receive it. 

He needed her to arrive at his bungalow. It was Zara’s job to ensure she got there. 

‘What makes you think he has a girlfriend?’ She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning lightly on the doorframe as she watched the emotion flutter across her boss’ face. Claire Dearing was not a jealous person. 

Claire shrugged her shoulders, hand twirling in the air. ‘ _Sam?_ ’ She told her assistant, knowing only the woman’s name and Owen’s deep admiration for her. 

Zara laughed, the sound a sharp park in the quiet office floor. She stops immediately when she noticed the flash of insecurity on Claire’s face. Zara huffed, accepting that the jig was likely up. The game had been played long enough and really it wasn’t fair to talk about someone behind their back. ‘That’s you,’ Zara told her waiting for Claire to click. ‘ _Sam_ is _you_.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘They thought they were smart, I don’t know. But, it was getting ridiculous how much Owen talked about you.’ Zara scrunched up her nose, ‘He’s a little obsessed’. She laughed, adding that his feelings were out of some deep set fondness that had followed him from the day he met her. 

Claire blinked, shuffling in her seat. Owen Grady _did not_ talk about her. Zara only nodded. He did. So much, in fact, that he and Barry had created a nickname - one Zara was privy too, they weren’t as smart as they thought they were. _S_ enior _A_ ssets _M_ anager. Sam.

That way, Owen could talk about his undying love for Claire without sticking his foot in his mouth. Something Zara was _dying_ for him to do, especially after the bad date that left her boss snappy for half a week. Neither boss, nor coconspirator were willing to share the details. Whatever it was, Claire certainly didn’t get laid. 

She shrugged, ‘Just, I don’t know - go get the reports. Roast him about it. I can see it burning in your eyes.’ Zara laughed, she was the only one in the park who’d managed to joke with Claire and actually get the woman to laugh - during work hours. She was also the only person (other than Owen Grady) who had tried. 

Zara left her boss sitting dumbfounded in her office knowing without a doubt that the truth would drive her forward, curiosity mixed with a little annoyance enough to get her where she needed to be. 

*

There was something soothing about the slow crunch of her tires on gravel, smoothing out to the sound of foliage breaking under the heavy weight of her car. Owen’s bungalow, as much as she hated to admit it, was one of the best places on the island. It bought the nature back to the place, no asphalt, no solid _safe_ buildings. Just his moderate shack by the lake, his picnic table on the grass and his bike leaning against the patio steps. 

It was almost primitive bar for the fact that it was not. 

Something was off. Claire rolled her shoulders, realigning her posture and trying to shake the slight flutter in her gut. It felt odd because she knew things she wasn’t supposed to know. Reality had shifted around his bungalow with certain insight. At least, that’s what she wanted to blame it on. Not the fact that it smelt faintly of roast meat, potatoes and rosemary - steamed vegetables, and something sweet. Claire certainly chose to ignore the candle like loom drifting from the windows. 

No. This was Owen’s bungalow on a normal night. Except; it wasn’t. 

Claire realised her grave mistake approximately sex seconds after her heels clacked loudly up his steps, front door open leaning the fly screen to protect the interior from the night. Through the clear mesh Claire made out a set up table, candles burning prettily, flowers set up beside them. 

Zara was wrong. 

‘Finally!’ Owen’s voice reached her, just as his body stepped in front of her few, swinging the door open. He was supposed to be sick, ill in bed, unable to get up - MIA all morning and afternoon. The Owen in front of her was in full health. 

‘You’re supposed to be sick.’ She told him, confusion digging deep into her forehead. 

Owen grinned, flashing white teeth at her as he shrugged. How else was a surprise going to work if she wouldn’t come willingly. He had to force her - but, she didn’t have to stay if she didn’t want to. He didn’t want to _force_ her. 

He rambled, prattling on about this and that and how she probably was only trying to be polite in avoiding him and acting semi snappish, but regardless, he wanted to do something for her anyway. Owen felt as though she meant a lot to him. ’ _Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to say that bit out loud.’_

His ridiculous antics thawed her heart, letting her defences down a little as her stomach rumbled for the delicious smells drifting out from his bungalow. 

‘I know you don’t like being alone on your birthday.’ He told her quietly, only a step away. Claire didn’t question how he knew that. Instead she left her walls as crumbled brick on the porch. It was _her_ birthday after all, she owed herself something. Granting Owen with her true self, the vulnerable side that would later curse herself for this reveal was the most she could do for his sentimental heart. 

She wondered, with an action like this, how on Earth their date had gone so badly. How he still wanted to be kind to her regardless of how mean, and cold shouldered she had been. All she had done was nagged him, practically setting out on a witch hunt to find him that morning, and there he was tucked away doing something kind for _her._

‘Next time you want to do something like this, you can hand your reports in on time. There are other ways to get my attention.’ She told him, still a little mad that she was missing a report. Owen assured her Zara had it, the document filed a few days ago. 

‘I’ll keep that in mind, though.’ He offered, stopping to pull the door open for her. 


	125. #125 - Charlie and the Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: ‘Get your hands off her, you slimy piece of shit’.

They’d spent two days with the TV off, unless it was playing one of Charlie’s DVDs. The radio had been ignored too, replaced with CDs. It was an avoidance tactic, both Owen and Claire trying to lock out the world for a week in the hopes that they would miss the hullabaloo.

Owen wanted to believe that there would be no interest that year. But, he knew better in the voice of reason that was his wife. It had been half a decade since Jurassic World saw the Indominus Rex loose and causing chaos. It would be a mark of remembrance if anything else. 

He noticed the vans on the street the second he turned the corner. ‘Shit,’ Owen swore catching the attention of his wife in the seat beside him. He nodded towards the vans parked on the street, and the small number of people dotting the grass of their front lawn. She groaned beside him, head falling back against the headrest as a wild panic started to set in. 

They couldn’t turn back, not now that they were so close, they’d be spotted and likely followed if the press were as ruthless as Owen remembered them to be. Even if he could turn around, Charlie was putting up a fight to stay awake in the backseat, asking quietly every few minutes if they were home yet. They’d tried to exhaust her that morning, of all days it had to work _today_. 

She brushed it off at first, shrugging that they might only want a small statement. They could do that, offer something slight then hurry inside. Owen shook his head. If they wanted a statement they would have called. You don’t bring cameras for a few small words. Claire reached her hand across the console, wrapping her small fingers around his wrist. ‘They’re not allowed to take pictures of her.’ 

He shook his head. If they thought so much of taking Charlie’s picture and sending it anywhere they had another thing coming. Owen didn’t waste his time the first time this happened, one year after Jurassic World. They had turned up, not expecting Owen and Claire to be together, let alone the woman heavily pregnant. What had been a small news story on Claire Dearing’s thoughts a year on from Jurassic World, turned into them following her for the details of her and Owen’s relationship. They were calling Charlie the _Jurassic World Baby_ or some crap like that - he honestly didn’t put too much thought into remembering the title. 

When Claire’s picture appeared in a gossip magazine, promptly plopped on her desk by her new boss, Owen had enough. The legal team he hired was a little _over_ budget, but Owen was willing to stop at nothing in order to protect his unborn daughter.

Claire was to be left alone for the remainder of her pregnancy, and nothing of Charlie would exist in the newspaper, online, or within the pages of a gossip magazine. No one was to take her picture and put it anywhere unless they had signed permission from Owen _and_ Claire. 

He was only just now realising that he would have to update that contact to involve the second child who was barely showing under Claire’s skin. Better safe than sorry. ‘You get Charlie and head straight for the house, I’ll deal with the press.’ 

‘Daddy, there’s people at our home.’ Charlie told him from the backseat, receiving a disgruntled hum in return. The tension was radiating off him in sharp waves, enough that it shifted the lazy mood the interior of the car had adopted.

Claire squeezed her husband’s hand, trying to defuse his temper before he worked himself too far. Her attempts were futile. Although the tension in his shoulders had relaxed, by the time he pulled the car into their driveway, and the cameras started flashing. Owen’s cool evaporated. 

The second the car door opened, questions were thrown at them voices calling one over the other, words completely new to Owen’s ears. 

‘ _InGen confirmed that they’ve been using Isla Nublar for research! Their statement this morning announced they are conducting research trials like the one you were working on, Mr. Grady.’_

_‘How do you feel about all that?’_

_‘Will you go back to the Velociraptor project?’_

_‘Have you known about this all along?’_

_‘Would Simon Masrani approve? What of Henry Wu?’_

_‘Will this lead to the reopening of Jurassic World?’_

Owen didn’t know why they were asking them, waiting impatiently on their front lawn, rather than hounding those at Masrani Global and InGen. He and Claire didn’t have answers, they were no longer involved. They managed to survive the last park, that was all. It was only a major inconvenience that they were also employed there, and the root cause of the whole incident. 

He ignored them for the most part, Claire too, as he waited for her to collect Charlie from the backseat before he followed behind her, hand on the small of her back. Owen tried to keep focused, eyes on the front door, careful not to give the reporters anything as they swarmed around them. 

He smiled at Charlie, the girl holding her face to her mother’s shoulder, only peeking out to look at him. With Charlie on her mother’s hip, the fabric of Claire’s shirt was pulled taunt over her rounding belly. The second Owen noticed that, the more his spine straightened, caught between desperate for no one to notice, and for someone to say something. 

He was itching to punch one of these fuckers just for the sheer idea of turning up at his home unannounced. If they thought for a second that they could camp on the lawn his daughter played on, they had another thing coming. 

A hand darted out, grabbing hold of Claire’s elbow as she passed, voice following it quickly. ‘What will your daughter think of you when she knows the truth of Jurassic World?’ 

Owen growled the second he saw the contact, immediately pushing himself between Claire and the reporter. ‘Get your hands off her, you slimy piece of shit!’ He couldn’t help seeing red when another man had his hands on his pregnant wife. He heard Claire click her tongue behind him, reprimanding Owen for his language and tone. He took a deep breath, following her a little closer to the door before announcing to the congregated mass that they had no comment, nor did they wish to discuss anything with the media concerning Jurassic World. 

Claire fumbled with the keys for what felt like a century while reporters continued to throw questions at them. They stumbled in the door when it opened, the three of them, Charlie squished between her parents and Owen pushed the door closed firmly behind them. 

‘Oh-o.’ The girl told her father once Claire had put her on the ground, little shoulders shrugging as she covered her mouth. 

Owen sighed. ‘Oh-o indeed, baby girl.’ He crouched down to her level quietly asking her if she was okay as he kissed her cheeks. Owen warned her in a low voice, once again, about the perils of stranger danger. The people outside were not her friend, and they would hopefully go away. 

‘What do we do now?’ Claire asked. The last time the press decided to make a visit to their doorstep they had been there all week. The last thing she wanted was to feel hostage in her home, let alone trying to keep Charlie entertained without living the security of their property. 

Owen grumbled, scrubbing a hand across his face as Charlie ran off to make a mess. They should have thought about this. Instead of avoiding the news they should have been watching it, paying close attention, picking every nuance apart in anticipation of the press. 

‘The first person to get cabin fever, is going to be Charlie and honestly; I don’t want to deal with that.’ He nodded, agreeing with his wife wholeheartedly. It would take Charlie a small number of hours before she was begging for a bike ride, or ice-cream, a trip to Nana’s or visiting Tango at the zoo. If they had to hold her back, all hell would break loose. 

‘Mama?!’ Charlie called, hanging over the banister. Claire hummed back, calling out the little girl’s name. ‘Can you read to me?’ Charlie’s tell that she was tired had always been a request for a story. Claire and Owen had forgotten how exhausted she was, too caught up in the pandemonium outside their door. 

Owen nudged his wife towards their daughter, knowing that in twenty minutes they would be curled up in his and Claire’s bed, fast asleep. It bought buy him time to scramble through phone calls looking for the right person to speak to in order for the press to go away. He would do what he had to, even if it meant standing on his doorstep and answering menial questions he didn’t know the answers to. 

Owen was willing to do anything to keep his girls safe and out of the public eye. 


	126. #126 - Grease Stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: “I have put up with your hobby because I love you but you’ve gone too far”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been over a month since I last posted a prompt ... whoops. Not like y’all’ve been missing ‘em though.

Standing in front of their full length mirror Claire seethed. ‘That’s it!’ She hissed scowling at her own reflection in fed up disbelief.

Owen’s bike had been returned to him a little over five weeks earlier, all their belongings and keepsakes from the island delivered to their door with a note from Masrani Global. She had no idea they were going back to the island to retrieve things from the apartment buildings there - and Owen’s bungalow. They had done them a curtesy in collecting their belongings and yet it still stung to be kept out of the loop.

Owen preferred it that way. Admitting to her openly that if given the chance to go back he might have taken it. He would have willingly used the guise of collecting his belongings to seek out Blue. With that revelation Claire was glad for the secrecy.

Since the return of his bike, Owen resumed his love for tinkering. With repairs came oil stains and grease. He was used to living alone, in a bungalow where no one told him to clean up after himself. Their shared condo was too pristine for his comfort. Owen was constantly on edge about keeping the place tidy, he just managed to trip up a few times.

He was the worst with grease, not quite wiping it off his fingers before entering the house. He left trails on the sides of door frames and bench tops, leaving them unwittingly for Claire. She had ruined too many items in her wardrobe thanks to the black sludge, her hip passing the counter and retrieving the remnants Owen forgot to wipe off his hands. It wouldn’t have phased her in the slightest if she had been wearing black. That was never the case, Owen was always forgetful when she was wearing white, or navy, or the soft pink pencil skirt with a black and grey pattern.

It was always when she was wearing something easily ruined.

It wasn’t just her skirts and slacks either. Claire had lost the collar to a few shirts too, her hand unknowingly finding a smudge before touching her clothes committing Claire to the crime.

She had no doubt he could hear coming from the other end of their home, her heels still on click, click clicking across the floorboards. ‘Hey babe,’ Owen drawled, lazily lifting his eyes from the bike a beat after she stepped into the garage doorway.

‘No, no, no,’ Claire clicked her tongue shaking her head as she glared in his direction. ‘Don’t _“hey babe”_ me, Owen.’ She seethed at him and the man barely flinched. A mild sense of confusion washed over his features with a single blink, Owen waiting for the next blow. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you have this back.’ She gestured sharply towards his bike, witnessing the way his curiosity grew. Claire fidgeted on the spot for a second tension built in her chest before she clenched her fists and let out her frustration. ‘I have to put up with this hobby because I love you but you’ve gone too far.’ She stressed, anger contorting on her face, changing to confusion as Owen’s expression changed to humoured. ‘You’ve ruined your last skirt, Owen. I’m serious you have to cut it out.’

Owen stood slowly, much like he had the day she approached him about the I-Rex. He pulled a rag from his back pocket, making a show of wiping off his hands (although not completely, Claire noted). He prowled towards her, grin creeping across his face as Claire crossed her arms over her chest.

‘What?’ She asked, faltering a little as she took a step back into their home.

Owen’s grin broadened, if it was possible. ‘Did you just say you love me?’ He asked, wonder shinning in his eyes as he reached for her hip with a dirty hand. Claire tapped his eager hand away, taking another step back as she sputtered.

‘This is serious, I’m mad.’ She told him, trying to keep a hold on her glare.

Owen chuckled low in the back of his throat the sound sending chills down Claire’s spine as she fought for control of the situation. ‘Oh, I’m sure it is. But, you love me.’ His grin was contagious, spreading embarrassment from her chest to her neck, cream skin turning red. Claire rolled her eyes as she gave in, muttering something about her skirt being ruined anyway, when his hand connected with her hip, pulling her into him. ‘You haven’t said that before.’

‘I love you.’ She whispered, her voice cracking slightly on her admission as she gave herself to his green eyes, willing to drown in their depths. Claire had meant it when she said it the first time, she just had not realise that she hadn’t said it. Owen had, long before she felt he should have. He admitted to his accidental confession, their bodies entangled, their minds exhausted, not before backtracking that he meant it regardless.  

Claire surrendered completely, letting her anger slip from her shoulders as she raised a hand to his hair. Owen dropped his head to her shoulder, nuzzling at her neck before he kissed the skin there. She repeated her words, shivering as he hummed the sound vibrating against her skin.

‘You need to clean your rags or get new ones. Do you need a bucket of water and soap out here? What is going to get you to stop?’ She stressed, spare hand gripping onto his shoulder as Owen tilted her back just the slightest as he towered over her. He wasn’t listening, and Claire knew it, Owen’s hand wandering down to the edge of her skirt before travelling back up her leg, the fabric moving with him.

‘Whatever you want, babe.’ He grunted in her ear when she pulled on his hair, determined to be acknowledged.

She didn’t know when to give up. ‘Owen, I’m being serious.’ Unfortunately, neither did Owen. He was just the stronger of the two in that moment, driving Claire’s attention away as he nipped at her neck lightly, one hand squeezing her waist, the other her thigh. She wanted to argue that he was ruining her clothes but Claire could already hear the quip on his tongue before she even spoke. He would only see it as a good thing, further reason to keep her in his bed. ‘I hate you,’ She teased, meeting his mouth for a slow kiss, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

Owen only grinned as he lifted Claire from the ground, her legs locking around his waist. ‘No, you _love_ me.’ He gloated, kissing her fondly. Claire rolled her eyes, amused with his amusement. She put a pin in their argument, they would talk about it later when she found traces of grease on her skin only driving her point home further.


	127. #127 - Lone Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one asked for this. I wanted to write it. Millie ( @amelias-obsessions ) shared a snippet of an interview with Pratt for Empire. He made a comment about Owen ‘doing alright’ with ‘action’ and that he’d ‘take the ferry to the mainland and find some local girls there’. I kind of wanted to play with that. And the idea that if Owen were an animal, in Pratt’s opinion he’d be a dolphin because ‘he likes to fight, fish and fuck’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I was never a champion at reading my essay questions properly and answering them concisely so this is loosely based off that but not entirely.

She knew Owen Grady was promiscuous. It wasn’t a secret when you were a woman who worked in an office filled with other women. If ever there was a stereotype to be filled it would be one concerning gossip.

He was gorgeous, and he knew it. Cocky, too. There wasn’t a woman who encountered him who hadn’t swooned in his presence or after he left. Claire was guilty of feeling a little weak in the knees, her mind wandering to an inappropriate place the first time she had encountered Owen in the island’s labs. She wasn’t about ready to admit that to anyone. As far as her colleagues were concerned, when they spoke to her at all, she was immune to him. More pissed off in his presence than turned on. Internally she struggled with herself; Claire Dearing was both. Simultaneously attracted to the broad shouldered, thick specimen of a man all the while completely turned off to his smug attitude.

She had feared one afternoon that he had sensed it. The first time he flirted with her, winking at the end of an innuendo-filled statement. She could have had him fired for sexual harassment - or at least put on probation. Claire wanted to file the harassment form just to bring him down a peg but decided against it, something within her liking the small thrill. Innuendo was just Owen. Not that it excused the behaviour. Claire’s previous worries that he could tell she was entertained with the idea of him diminished when she noticed she wasn’t the only one he leant into a little too closely or winked at in the suggestion that he had already seen them naked.

* * *

 

She wanted to disrobe for him, was even willing to do make it sexy. Thankfully she knew herself better than to act on primal instinct.

It was no surprise when she saw him heading for the ferry most weekends, disappearing from the island for the night before returning. She assumed his reasons innocent at first, cobwebs living over her internal recollection of inappropriate reasons as to why a man would disappear over night. Zara’s Facebook gave away the truth, the woman filling her boss in on the parties each week. An invitation was always extended to the next one as Zara clicked through photos of sweaty bodies cramped together, drinks in their hand, consciousness half clouded over. There was always a different girl draped over Owen’s arm - and always someone from Control who was disappointed that she hadn’t managed to _score_ with him.

He was gorgeous; he was cocky, and he played the scene like any purebred stallion would.

Claire hated the myriad of disappointed and elated feelings that surged through her chest. It always mixed like poison, making her head ache and her stomach churn. Always pleasant on the Monday mornings in which she had to track him down.

She tried to keep her distance, and he always managed to invade her space, grating her up the wrong way. Claire could tolerate it for a few hours a week, training herself to ignore him only out of irritation.

It worked until she was kicked out of her apartment on island for maintenance. They relocated her to a different building, less extravagant than what Claire was used to. It reminded her of college; the rooms were small, the walls thin and everyone checking in on everyone else’s business. She could live with that too, her small apartment at the end of the hall near the fire exit, and distanced from the other, full apartments. That was until the plumbing in Owen’s bungalow exceeded his capacity of handiness.

He was put in the small apartment next to Claire’s which happened to coexist with the night scene Jurassic World promoted throughout the spring break season. It was only a short two weeks, seeing the ferry run late nights as locals and tourists visited Jurassic World to party with dinosaurs.

It managed to fall quiet in the employee village; Claire set up in bed with a book she had meant to read. She had settled in easily, enjoying the peace and quiet, as doors in the hallway opened and closed on occasion, echoing in the building.

She heard Owen’s door bang shut like it always did when he waltzed in, throwing it closed behind himself. She waited, holding her breath in anticipation. Claire didn’t know if it was her imagination or not, but she could swear Owen’s room shared a wall with hers. She wasn’t eavesdropping; she just wanted coherent proof before she knocked on his door, fed up.

The bed he was supplied with, courtesy of Masrani Global had an issue with squeaky springs. Owen was always out until long after she had gone to bed, but Claire was certain she had heard it in the night on more than one occasion. Claire thought it was the building, not entirely old but full of faults.

It took no longer than a minute for the squeaky spring to call out through the walls, followed quickly by a woman’s soft chuckle. Claire froze, book poised open in her hands, heart too afraid to beat. He brought someone home; she could hear them through the walls. Suddenly she felt like a voyeur listening in to the goings on next door without their knowledge.

When the girl he was with giggled _‘Owen_ ’, the sound reaching Claire’s ears as clear as day, followed with his throaty growl she shot out of bed and pressed herself to the opposite wall. A shiver climbed down Claire’s spine, setting a warmth in her belly and humiliation in her mind. Her heart raced, beating wildly against her ribs as her hand pressed to her chest, trying to calm the staccato.

She could hear their clothes hitting the floor, the distinctive clunk of a belt on wooden floors. Owen’s low chuckle vibrated through the wall, reaching out for Claire, touching the back of her mind in a way that set her alight.

Ashamed, Claire fled the room. She curled up on the furthest end of her borrowed couch; blanket tucked around her as she tried to ignore the occasional thud on the wall and the rising cries pleading for God in the apartment next door. It was the squeaking of his bed that rattled her, the sound consistent with what she assumed were Owen’s fast thrusts.

Her skin crawled, and all the while Claire found herself a little hot under the collar.  

He grinned at her the next morning, Claire locking her door as Owen pulled his closed. The girl was gone, no sight of her in physical form but the look on his face gave it all away. Claire suspected had she not heard his nocturnal activities that she would not have noticed a single thing. Owen always looked that way, cocky, smug, arrogant, thick enough to take a bite out of.

Claire couldn’t help the flush that raced up her throat, nor the thoughts that invaded her mind. Something flared in her gut, spelling shame in Claire’s thoughts as Owen winked at her before walking away.

He infuriated her, purposefully wedged his way under her skin just to get a rile out of Claire. There was no doubt that he was doing this - bringing girls to his tiny borrowed apartment - just to aggravate her.

It was working.

Owen didn’t stop. There wasn’t a singular night after the first where his apartment was silent beside hers. The bed unforgivingly squeaked. Claire was sure she had memorised the rhythm of his movements thanks to the sound. Moans and whimpered pressed through the wall, slithering along the paint just to seek her out.

Claire was loosing sleep thanks to him. She could learn to sleep through the noise, that or noise cancelling headphones would certainly cover it. But, his voice was gruff in her ears now, the sound forever there chuckling beside her bedroom wall, and groaning in ecstasy. She couldn’t shake it from her mind, and thus it plagued her. It crawled along her skin late at night, setting a fire in her belly she couldn’t extinguish.

She hated herself for being at his mercy. He hadn’t asked. He likely didn’t even want her that way. And yet, the sound of his voice - not intended for Claire - on the edge of completion set her skin on fire. The tension in her gut was wound tighter than she knew it could be wound. She was soaking her underwear on a bad day, caught in a room with Owen; proximity too close and his tone of voice too much. She had not given herself permission to feel that way, neither had he. She hated him for being a full blooded male, for creating this reaction. For bringing girls to a place where he could be so easily heard. But, then again. Maybe that had been his point.

Owen was an Alpha. He liked knowing that other people _knew._ She had cornered him once about what he did in his free time. His weekends off island spent luring women into his arms in front of park employees. She suggested he might want a better name for himself, that it would be best to be discrete. Owen only laughed, posture straightening itself, the man preening like a peacock proud of himself that word had travelled.  

He was as dangerous as a lone wolf. Unafraid of his solitary nature and proud of every conquest that went reported. There was no stopping him. He was going to drive her crazy without knowing, and he was going to enjoy it if he ever found out.

Claire couldn’t have been more relieved when she was given the all clear on her apartment again, allowed to return to her wide open spaces and sound proof walls. They, however, did not keep Owen out of her head. The man in her mind caressing feeling she had long since repressed. Claire was a business woman, one who kept her eye squarely on her goals. There was no time for primitive inhibitions not in her schedule. Claire Dearing could barely remember the last time she had gone on a date let alone had sex.

Just because Owen had awoken something inside of her in no way meant now was the time. He was infuriating, and smug and she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him let alone entertain romance on base instinct.

‘Claire?’ Owen’s voice reached her rattling her thoughts and bringing her back into the room. Only barely did he catch her full conscious. She was caught, somewhere in a daydream that involved the sound of his voice and the squeak of the bed. Not that she owned a squeaky bed. The sound was forged in her memory now, forever to be associated with Owen Grady and naughty fantasies she couldn’t keep at bay.

He smirked when she met his eye. Claire had zoned out, left the planet and her office while Owen continued with a grant proposal she had missed completely. He was perched a few feet away from her, his hip on her desk while Claire remained on the small lounge set. She had been sitting there when he barged in and took over her space and was not compelled to move as Owen made himself at home.

‘Where did you just go?’ He asked, humour lining the edges of his words, dripping with suggestion. ‘Somewhere filthy, I hope.’ He grinned. Claire knew he wouldn’t miss the warmth that coloured her cheeks, or the blotches on her neck. She could bet her position at Jurassic World that her eyes had glazed over at some point, pupils dilating to match the desire in her chest.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in an attempt to shake him off. It didn’t work. ‘What were you saying, Mr. Grady?’

Owen chuckled, repositioning himself at her desk his hips centred as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I wasn’t. Stopped when you started whimpering.’ Her teeth sunk into her lip, embarrassment flooding to colour the rest of her skin. ‘Fidgeting too, but that wasn’t nearly as fun.’ He stared at her like he knew every thought inside her head. Claire felt as though he had forced himself into her thoughts, revealing every deep dark secret in a second.

It would make him power hungry if he had seen the things she had thought.

She waved him off, calling the things he said ridiculous. Her cheeks felt as though they would never stop burning, the warmth too much Claire was sure she would set herself alight. Owen did not leave like she asked him to. Instead, he watched her closely as he prowled towards her happy for the woman to think he was moving for the door when his target was her.

Claire stuttered when he stopped in front of her, words scared out of her throat. Owen dropped to his knees, devilish grin playing on his features as he kept his eyes locked with Claire’s. She could barely look at him, the intensity in his gaze too much as his large hands found her knees, skin on skin where the fabric didn’t reach.

Owen’s thumb worked a circle against the underside of her thigh, slow and persistent. Not for the first time Claire cursed the warm climate of Central America forbidding her from stockings that kept her too warm, and in this instance a little safer from Owen’s touch.

She rose to his challenge, finding his eyes and never letting go. Claire listened to his breathing and the slight catch he was trying to hide. Her breathing adapted to his, breath coming in short spurts, catching on very inhale.

Without thought she leant in, gaze shifting from the depths of his green eyes to the curve of his lips. That was all it took for Claire to close the gap with eyes closed, touching her mouth to his, taking hold of his bottom lip.

She unfolded like a flower fresh to blooming in the spring. Despite her better judgement, Claire melted against him, giving into the instincts she wanted to ignore. Her knees parted for him easily, allowing Owen to move closer, his body pressed to hers as he towered over Claire - even on his knees.

With both hands in her hair, Owen hummed against her mouth, kissing her long and deep - like she had never been kissed before. The vibrations sent shocks of electricity through her on a scale far larger than she had felt from her accidental voyeurism. He was intense - a little too intense - as Claire felt overpowered with the feel, scent, and taste of him.

Owen Grady had been a tortured fantasy in her head for a small number of weeks. Although he was a real man, he was not a real possibility. Suddenly he was there, under her fingertips as she dug her nails into his thick shoulders, his skin smelling of pinewood and dirt, something distinctly man about him as he tasted like the earth. Feeling him underneath her, _hearing_ him in her hair, on her skin - Claire was ready to explode.

‘Stop.’ She whimpered in his ear, mouth pulling away from his as her fingers threatened to claw his next. Owen pulled back, his breath hot against her skin, puffing out of his lungs in heaving breaths. ‘Not here,’ She told him, mindful that they were in her office and that Zara had no concept of knocking - not that her assistant needed to knock before.

Her hands shook, unstable with a sudden wave on need as Owen grinned at her his smile the realist  she had ever seen. He grinned, he smirked, he snickered. He was coy and sly and cocky. But this, his mouth was uneven, some giddy glee flashing in his eyes that Claire had never seen.

‘My place or yours?’ He asked quietly, slipping his hands from her hair to clasp her trembling fingers. He kissed the palm of each hand before looking up at her, expecting an answer.

‘Yours.’ She declared.

Claire Dearing would not be another conquest who took him home only to be abandoned. Instead, he would be her prey. He was a lone wolf, but so was she their strengths built from different bones.


	128. #128 - Winnie: Mistaken with Desserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Mistaken for a couple AU - Winnie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for this prompt a million years ago - when Winnie was an idea I was still trying to flesh out. I forgot to add this to the complete story and instead of deleting the prompt on a 'whoops' I thought I might as well try a one-shot even though my brain does not want to write this week.

Owen had made it routine that they traversed the park on their Tuesday’s together. At first, it was a way to introduce Winnie to the island she was calling a home for the foreseeable future. After that it became something to do. She was still weary of the dinosaurs that roared, very much alive and _definitely_ scary.

In a theme park full of children, Winnie was the only child on that island that was terrified of the creatures that occupied it. They frightened her to the point that she went stiff as a statue, frozen on the spot until Owen picked her up and reassured that they couldn’t get her. She was warming up to the idea, but reluctantly. 

It wasn’t until they had covered everything Jurassic World had to offer - including the spaces that they didn’t - that Winnie had started to enjoy their day trips and walks. Owen could only comply to her request to go out again each week, the child migrating from the safety of his arms, to approaching the fences on her own. 

Claire joined them on a lazy afternoon, the park in down season, her meetings less time consuming. She took a step back, taking the opportunity to watch her daughter and Owen in action, their bond something that made her chest ache. There was camaraderie there, unspoken dedication and something Claire struggled to identify at first; admiration. Whatever Owen gave, Winnie took but returned in the same way. 

She had ducked home to change, before seeking them out. Dressed far more casually than her office attire would like to suggest. Owen saw it as Claire’s opportunity to observe the park from a guests point of view, the chance to get down on their level and see what they saw. She had rolled her eyes, the week before, only to nod at his suggestion admitting he raised a good point. 

A chill had set over the island, cooling her pale skin that was so used to being warmed by the sun - on the off chances that she spent time outside Control. She had shivered three times to many before Owen slid his arm around her waist and tucked Claire into his side. She warmed immediately, blush rising up her neck as she turned to inspect his face. Owen gave away nothing, not even looking at her when she squeaked in surprise of his touch. Claire swore that she could see the slightest hint of a smirk but wasn’t sure if it was permanent or not. Instead, she said nothing, only leaning into him a little closer. 

Winnie was a few steps ahead, winding around the bodies of guests who had stopped to admire things she had long since grown tired of. She had a goal, excited that her mother had joined them for the afternoon. 

‘Winnie,’ Owen called out to her, the girl suddenly too far ahead of them, the group density thicker - her chances of getting lost slightly higher. He watched her stop, sneakers lighting up with the force of her step. ‘What’s the rule?’ He asked when they caught up to her, the girl apologetic. 

‘Stay where you can see me.’ She mumbled, biting her lip before admitting that she didn’t want to get lost or snatched. She moved to take her mother’s hand, happy to walk alongside the adults until they reached the enclosure she was dying to share. 

Claire listened as Winnie bounced on the tips of her toys, sharing every fact and tidbit of information Owen had fed her weeks ago concerning the Gallimimus. She wiggled between the legs of tall adults, crammed against the window to get a peak as Owen and Claire moved out of the way. 

She could tell, the way Owen had his eye trained on the group that had Winnie not returned from it every man and woman in the area would have hell to pay. He watched it intensely as Claire tried not to focus on the warmth he was emitting. 

Claire felt his body physically relax when Winnie’s little red head popped out from the group and ran towards an interactive screen just to their left. Claire fisted a handful of his shirt between her fingers smiling at herself over his protective nature. He turned to her, his grin lopsided as she expressed her gratitude towards his care for her daughter. 

‘Can we get pudding?’ Winnie called, head turned away from the screen, fingers still tapping. Claire nodded softly, laughing as Owen echoed Winnie’s question with excitement.

[…]

For once on that god forsaken island, warm sticky date pudding was welcomed easily to fend off the slight chill. Winnie might have defeated the purpose when she requested ice-cream with hers, giggling at Owen as her mother rolled her eyes. 

They had made a mess of themselves quickly, Owen included which was not a surprise to Claire despite the man being, a grown man. 

She excused herself from her giggling daughter, and Owen - whoever he was to her - to seek out their waitress in the hope of more napkins. Winnie was covered in ice-cream and pudding, not that the girl was complaining. 

The waitress grinned, peering over Claire’s shoulder to the mess of company she had just left. Easily she handed Claire what the woman was looking for but not before commenting on the state of her companions. ‘You have a beautiful family.’ The girl complimented her, smiling wide, honesty in her eyes. 

Claire thanked her shyly, unsure of how to correct the girl without coming across as rude before shuffling away to deal with her sticky mess. ‘Look, Mama, pudding kisses!’ Winnie leant across the table to press a sticky kiss to Owen’s cheek. The man grinned, his face covered in small marks of pudding and ice-cream. Claire only rolled her eyes, so this was how they spent their time when she wasn’t looking. 

‘You’re gross,’ She told the girl fondly, scrunching up her nose as she tried to wipe at Winnie’s face. She squirmed away from her mother’s touch, but didn’t openly complain. 

Owen took a spare napkin wiping at his own face before he moved to corner Winnie, an adult at either side trying to scrub the remnants of her dessert from her skin. She squealed with laughter, struggling under the force of them both and coming back clean faced within a minute. 

‘What’d the waitress say to have you smiling like that?’ Owen asked, watching Claire’s face as she dropped the dirty napkin to her empty plate. 

Claire rolled her eyes. Of course he was intrusive. ‘She complimented my family.’ She told him quietly, biting at the inside of her cheek as Owen grinned, doing the same thing she had done with his own napkin. 

‘Damn straight, we’re amazing.’ He joked. There was no worry or concern that they had been perceived that way despite the truth. Claire wasn’t running from the door or pushing Owen away. She just laughed at his comment and nodded her head, asking Winnie if she was ready to go. 

He knew there would be tension in the back of her mind somewhere, but for the moment it wasn’t coming out to play or making Claire question the decisions she had made. 

Besides, it wouldn’t have been so bad to have been called a family, the three of them exploring the park like guests, and making a mess of their desserts. 


	129. #129 - Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Post Island, Owen waking Claire from what he assumed was a nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, it’s almost been a month again. Whoops. 
> 
> Okay, so before I run away from this like it’s on fire or something - I recieved this prompt AGES ago and when I asked the anon if they meant what I thought they meant, they never responded. Which is part of the reason why I avoided doing it for so long, because I’m weird. Assumed is a word you usually use on purpose - so, you get this. Not that I think any of you will complain.

 

With his eyes closed Owen could map out the small expanse of their room. He knew the lines and the angles, the distance from one end to the other, the colour of the faded carpet and the pattern on the walls. 

He was developing cabin fever on circumstance. They were allowed out of their hotel, free to walk the streets and do as they please. They, however, were forced to remain in Costa Rica. Owen was growing claustrophobic in wide open spaces, contained in a place he did not want to be. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the city, or the beach side. It was a larger issue with being controlled by idiots who didn’t know what was going on. Owen had seen his fair share of it in the military, ranking himself up to corporal of the group, calling the shots and taking the names. Even though he had a superior there Owen, for the most part, was in control. 

The daily in and out, waiting for their next set of hearings was driving him insane. They repeated their story once, twice, three times - thirty. There was no end to the repetition. Again, again, again. Owen was growing tired of the sound of his own voice, of the recollection, of the details, terrified now on the thirty-first telling that it was no longer real, that he had made something up, alter the facts. He told them the exact same thing every time they asked. 

Three months had ticked past, finding Owen and Claire in seperate rooms before they merged into one. Hotel capacity went from full to empty in the first two months. Of the twenty thousand guests who were abandoned with no flights home, and terrifying memories - only a small hundred of them remained. 

Claire avoided them. She avoided everyone until she knocked on his door late at night. It took them three weeks to collide back into each other, like hurtling stars headed for the earth. Owen offered support and Claire accepted that she needed it. 

He didn’t know how they ended up sharing a bed. Their walls dropped, disappearing with the vulnerability of night as each of them fought off their individual nightmares. They were there for support, to shake the other from the depths of their darkest dreams. At least, that was the rule. 

_Wake me if it seems too much._

She always dreamt fitfully, like she was falling asleep while fighting, her walls half erected to ward off bad dreams. She was the first to succumb, but not the worst. Owen hated watching her suffer. He couldn’t stand to listen to her cry out for longer than a second. She woke him some nights, her hand flying into his face, her nightmares stretching to the very ends of her fingertips, setting them free. He pulled her into him, curling her small body against his chest as he tried to rock her, humming nonsense words against the silk of her hair. 

He was the worst. Claire always looked distraught when she woke him, leaning over his face. In three months her hair had stretched to a length long enough to kiss the stubble on his cheek as she leant over, shaking him awake. Even in the dark he could see into the depths of her eyes, catching himself in the riff there, happy to float away with the tide. 

They never spoke about what they woke the other from. They knew. Instead, they lay side by side, on their backs, listening to the other breathe as they drifted in and out of sleep, terrified to fall back into the clutches of their subconscious. 

Owen couldn’t sleep that night. 

He was always the last to drift of, listening to Claire breathe as the soft scent of vanilla invaded his senses. It had to be his favourite part of the day if it weren’t for the fact that it lead to his least favourite. He half worried he’d never be able to sleep once they got out of that place and were reunited with their individual worlds. Owen had already spied the bottle of lotion she favoured, making a mental note for himself incase he ever need it. Three months he had lived in semi close proximity to that smell, it was going to take a while to get it out of his system. 

Claire slept soundly next to him. It was Owen who had been gripped by nightmares that night, Claire waking him with her heart in her throat and tears in her eyes. Although they had never been struck twice in one night, he fought off sleep, if only to listen to the reassurance that she was there. 

Owen loved her in the moonlight. Actually _loved_ , his chest contracting with warm innocent feeling as he watched her sleep, longing for the rest of eternity. Her skin was unobtainable ivory in silver light, so soft and subtle; sacred. Her hair set small fires across the linen, fanned out around her head, tangled in the hand pressed between her ear and the pillow. 

It was there she groaned, the sound soft, falling from the back of her throat. Owen felt his heart rate skip in an attempt to jump it’s speed. He was on guard, ready to wake her if she so needed, already desperate to pull her from the bad dream. Something in him hesitated, his hand mere inches above her arm. Owen waited. It wasn’t a groan, but a small moan, so delicate Owen considered the possibilities of her snapping in half. She was fragile porcelain, beauty caught in fine ceramic, so small even her eroticises were slight - perfect. 

He stared at her, caught off guard by the sound that filtered past her open mouth. He blinked, tempted to smack himself in the head in order to clear his thoughts. Surely he was hearing things. Claire Dearing wasn’t moaning in her sleep. 

The sounds were enough to set his blood rushing _south_ , his heart already skipping in his chest.He was caught between marvelling at her like she was some mythical unicorn of a woman and getting as far away as possible. He felt like a school boy, marvelling at the wonders of sexual beings first hand for the first time. This was real, right beside him. He had admired her too much and for far too long to accept that his was real. 

He had to tell himself she was having a nightmare as he sucked in a breath, desperate to control his erratic heart. 

Claire shifted, back arching just a little as she rolled onto her side reaching for him in her sleep. She hooked a leg over his drawing her body closer. Her fingertips found the sliver of skin exposed between his shirt and the edge of his boxers. His skin burnt, set alight by her touch as her hand slid under the fabric of his shirt and found home at the curve of his hip. 

Owen could no longer breathe, his heart was ready to skyrocket right out of his chest. This was a dream. He would be lying if he claimed to never have fantasised about this moment, or something similar; just hearing the sounds in any conceivable way. Hopefully one in which involved Owen eliciting them from her. 

He needed to wake her and yet she had not slept that soundly in weeks. They were desperate for the dark hours in which they could close their eyes, undisturbed. Owen was caught at a crossroads in letting her sleep, or indulging in the guilt that was pooling in his belly - and more specifically his dick. He had become a voyeur to her personal dreams, hanging on the breathy noises that fell from her mouth, aware that it was an invasion of her privacy. They had no privacy anymore. Everything was shared the second they agreed to sharing a room. It, however, didn’t make it any more okay. 

Owen had kissed her, once, hard and full of panic. He kissed her in uncertainty, in thanks, in a desperate rush of adrenaline that needed to be let out somehow, someway. Despite the bad timing of it all, prehistoric beasts swooping over their heads, her nephews two minutes from being found; Claire had responded. She squeaked against his lips in surprise before her body melted against his, hand sliding over her shoulder as she kissed him back with equal force. 

Owen had no doubt that it was a one off thing. He was desperate to ask her about it, to bring it up in conversation like an idiot, starving for a kiss. He was scared of what Claire would think, his timing was never right. They had things to sort through before they organised themselves. He just didn’t know how to prioritise, and he didn’t want to. 

She moaned again, back arching as her hips came into contact with his thigh. It was his name, undeniably, on her lips, rolling with a soft moan as her breath caught, stuttering on the end of her moan. Involuntarily, Owen bucked in response, the hand he had poised above her arm, falling to her waist. 

Claire jolted with the movement, eyes flying open as she squeaked, pulling herself away on instinct. She rolled onto her back with a groan - _not a moan_ \- her hand landing on her face as Owen let her go. He watched her mentally scolding herself, knowing she was sprung and there was no way out of it. 

‘Well,’ Owen began. ‘I for one, am glad one of us woke up.’ His tone oozed his cocky attitude as he _attempted_ to play it all lightly despite the fact that his heart was still racing in his chest and he was quite obviously _tenting_ his boxers. The last thing Owen wanted was for Claire to withdraw back into herself, pulling away from him and taking apart his last hope. 

Claire pulled her hand away from her face to roll her eyes. In three months Owen had grown to adore that expression, her exasperation never ceasing to amuse him. ‘Stop it,’ She fought him off weakly, ready to settle into self pity and the lack of control discussion he knew she was trying to map out in her head.

‘What?’ Owen defended, ‘We could have ended up in worse positions.’ Claire huffed, not yet ready to admit the mornings she woke before him, his morning erection pressed against her backside. As far as Claire was concerned, that was the _worst._ She liked Owen, a lot. There was a reason she let him hang around that stretched a lot further than their shared traumas. Claire just didn’t want to ruin what had frizzled between them, a long standing annoyance of one another that simmered to a reasonable friendship. Owen was a great drinking companion for when she was down, and a genuinely good shoulder to cry on. If Claire expressed anything other than an interest in his friendship - despite wanting more - she risked loosing him, alongside everything else she had already lost. 

Instead of owning up to noticing his erection almost every morning since they started sharing a bed, and Claire’s want to reach out and touch it, stroking him back to the land of the living with a _happy ending_ sort of morning. She held her tongue, instead of unleashing the desires she had for it. ‘As if,’ She huffed in an elementary way as she returned her hand to her face, her eyes closing as a headache threatened to wrap itself around her head. 

Owen didn’t speak, instead, he chucked before moving. He twisted only slightly, one of his arms slipping under her as the other grabbed her arm, tugging Claire on top of his chest. He was just trying to defuse the situation, prove their were worse ways she could have woken up. 

Owen failed to judge his decision at all. She landed, with a hiss from him, hip to hip. They could have looked past it, inconspicuously shifted positions, but Claire was never that easy. She squeaked in protest of his hands on her, pulling her body towards him, her body shifting as she did so. Inadvertently, Claire Dearing ended up grinding on his painfully present erection, alined almost perfectly with her centre. Through thin fabric he could feel her warmth, present from the very apparent dream she had been having, and was yet to deny. He was sure, if she brushed it off with an innocent blush, he would have let it drop. She didn’t deny nor confirm, leaving the ball in Owen’s court. 

She fidgeted, uncomfortable, hot blush racing up her cheeks. Owen’s hands on her hips stilled her, his thumbs tucking underneath her camisole to run smooth circles across her skin above the waistband of her pants. He wasn’t making the situation any better.

Somewhere in there, it had turned into a power play neither Owen nor Claire willing to back down as their mercilessly tried to turn the other on; more than they already were. Claire found her bravery on top of him, her hands hesitant on his chest as she leant towards his face. ‘Maybe it would have been better if you were asleep. I would have been able to finish.’ The smile that slipped across his face was slow, growing in it’s knowing intensity, cocky and unashamed. 

He bucked, intentionally, grinding himself against her as Claire let out a startled squeak that quickly transformed into a breathy moan. He rose up to met her, lips finding their place on her neck immediately, covering unmarked territory as he mapped her in his mind. 

Claire scratched her nails against his ribs, kissing his chest as she counted absentmindedly. He hummed at her touch, she moaned at his, her breath caught in the back of her throat. His hands slipped under the fabric of her sleep shorts, squeezing her behind with large callous hands as he pulled her body closer. ‘Tell me about it,’ Owen hummed, pressing kisses to her neck. ‘Your dream, I want to know.’ He insisted when she hesitated, embarrassment colouring her face. Claire didn’t think there was a need to share now that he had her in his arms, his lips on her skin, his touch hot.

She bit her lip, contemplating the want to tell him what she had seen behind her closed eyelids. Owen only urged her on, pleading with lust filled eyes. She shook her head, setting her teeth into her lip a little deeper. Her cheeks were beet red, her lips bruised and swollen, her hair fell in loose tendrils across her face. Claire stuttered to find her voice, ‘You, ah,’ She inhaled, a flush stretching down her neck and across the expanse of his chest, that he could see past her gaping camisole. ‘You were going down on me?’ Her admission came out like a question, the sound of her words picking up at the end. 

He didn’t ask if it was what she wanted. Instead, he kissed her mouth hard, his teeth clashing with hers before he flipped them. Claire’s back hit the mattress, the woman letting out a small sound of surprise. She grinned at him as he towered over her, breath heavy, his hand sliding up to caress her face. 

Sweet torture started there, Owen kissing his way down her body, stopping wherever she sucked in a breath, wherever made her lightheaded or caused an involuntary reaction. His hands held her wrists, preventing her from touching him or herself. 

Claire cursed the heavens when his lips touched her inner thigh, Owen raising his graze to smirk against her skin. ‘So much for _sweet dreams_ , huh?’ He teased before nipping at her inner thigh, his attention drawn elsewhere as his hands let go of hers to slide under her legs and over the curve of her hip. 

Claire sighed, rolling her eyes as she relaxed, giving into Owen’s sweet touch as the man completely dominated her, not without a little give and pull on her behalf. He fulfilled every aspect of her vocal dream, plucking all the strings in all the right places. Owen exceeded expectation. Not that Claire would admit to having any, she would remain innocent in nothing having thought about Owen and his abilities in the bedroom other than an unexpected dream about him, while he lay awake beside her. 


	130. #130 - Winnie: Cuddle Bug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can I request a general Winnie fic about cuddles on cold rainy days and Owen hog Winnie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay, anon. I forgot bits of the request after I started writing it.

Life in Chicago managed to treat them just as well as life on Isla Nublar, or on the Costa Rican coast. They had their rhythm, their routine and their idiosyncrasies in sync. They settled easily, unpacking the _crucial_ boxes and leaving the rest for later. 

They’d had a week to unpack, sort through the boxes of their lives to combine them on new shelves, and new walls. Despite the time frame, they barely put any effort into it, opening the crockery, and the bed linen, leaving bric-a-brac for the rainy days to come. 

The week passed, miscellaneous boxes still littered their compact home as they formed their lives around the larger pieces of furniture. Winnie loved it. She found a rustic charm in cardboard filled with Claire and Owen’s combined belongings. It reminded her of his mix-match bungalow on the island, their space slightly crammed, unorganised in it’s disregard.

Her first physical look at their new home was full of excitement, Winnie demanding almost immediately that they build forts, using the boxes to act as dividers and to hold down the blankets. She felt far more comfortable in make-believe rather than the reality that her familiar Costa Rican home was no longer accessible. 

She clung to Owen when she got tired, following him around the house every time he moved. When Claire announced bed time, Win only shook her head and begged for five more minutes. They should have known it would be their downfall when Claire granted it reluctantly. She had noticed the girl was anxious, excited to be in a new bedroom, in a new home - but terrified of it, all the same.

Instead, Winnie followed them as the adults got ready for bed, clinging to Owen’s leg as he brushed his teeth, her feet soft on the floorboards like the sudden rain against the windows. She climbed onto their bed, with assistance from Owen. He pushed at her bum with the flat of his foot, giving the little girl leverage to scramble onto her mother’s high bed as he reached for the shirt he’d left on the foot end.

She settled in the middle of the bed, sitting with crossed legs and her hands in her lap as she patiently watched them. ’Owen and I have to do work, lady bug.’ Claire told the girl, a knee on the mattress as she stroked messy red hair away from Winnie’s eyes. ‘You can stay here, but you have to be quiet. No games.’ 

‘Daddy has to concentrate?’ Win asked with tried eyes, blinking at her mother slowly. Claire leant in, kissing her daughter’s cheek with a fond smile. 

‘Exactly right, bug.’ She hummed, turning to Owen, the man standing at the end of the bed, pulling a sleep shirt over his head, funny little smile painted over his face. Winnie asked if she could call him _Daddy,_ six months ago and still the found of his caught Owen in his tracks. Joy overtook his face in a contorted smile, eyes glazing over as he lost himself in his head before hurtling back towards the earth. He and Andrew split their differences, the girl’s biological relation granting the girl with a second permission to call Owen her _second_ father. 

‘Want me to braid your hair?’ He asked the girl, joining her on the bed at her right side, while Claire sat on her left. She nodded softly, her hand rubbing at her tired eyes as she shuffled to sit in front of him as Claire went to collect her hairbrush. 

He brushed the little girl’s unruly hair, taming it into a simple braid. He dictated the finance proposal Claire promised to help him write, her fingers tapping across the keys of her laptop as she altered his words just a _little._

They weren’t even halfway through when Win climbed into his lap and fell asleep. Owen cradled her, rocking slightly as he held the sleeping girl, ignoring Claire’s slight interjections that he should take her to bed. 

‘You can’t lead with that,’ Claire grumbled, thumbs jolting against the space bar on her keyboard as Owen suggested something sarcastic. 

‘Why not? All the other research departments get funding, no hassle. Here I am, begging for it.’ He argued, bags forming under his eyes as Claire spared a glance for the clock. They were due to go to bed themselves, joining Winnie in a dreamscape of their own creation. 

She chuckled at him, leaning into his side as she tilted her head to kiss his cheek. ‘You know this is protocol? Everyone does it, you’ve just never asked for funding. In fact, I think Masrani could testify to the fact that you get the most out of anyone - without asking.’ She raised an eyebrow at him, smile curling at her lips as Owen rolled his eyes, ready to defend himself. 

If he was being honest instead of modest Owen would know to admit that he had attracted the eyes of animal behaviouralists. His efforts with the raptors at Jurassic World, while it lasted, proved incredible results that instantly slipped down the drain the second Vic Hoskins took over. Regardless, he was a well sought after man, with a new research project in the works. One that would be a lot less dangerous and guaranteed to keep him close to home; Winnie and Claire. 

‘You should put her to bed.’ Claire suggested once again, her hand rubbing the little girl’s arm. Her laptop closed with a soft thud, her oversized glasses sliding off her face and clicking on the bedside table. Claire didn’t have to look at him to know he was pouting. ’She is five-years-old and she is not sleeping in our bed, Owen.’ She told him with a scolding tone, pointing to the door with the reminder that he had slaved to make sure her bedroom was ready for when Win got home. 

‘She’s scared,’ He started to argue, happy to hold the girl all night even if it meant he got no sleep. 

Claire looked at him, just looked, no expression on her face other than the one that subtly asked _‘really?’_ ‘She’s not scared, she is out of place. We had this in Costa Rica, it’ll be fine. Put her to bed, leave her door open, the bathroom light is on. She will find us if she needs us.’ Claire knew without a doubt that Winnie would be in their bed the second dawn broke. She knew Owen knew that too. He just hated it when she was sacred, or worried, or slightly put out. All he wanted was for Claire and Winnie to be comfortable. They both cancelled the other out in the argument of sharing beds. Winnie would be comfortable with them, and although Claire would be as well, she argued otherwise. ‘She’s a big girl, Owen.’ Claire kissed her daughter’s head as she shoved at his large thigh encouraging him to get up. 

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do when she won’t need me anymore.’ A small pout slipped across his face as he stood from the bed, careful to not wake Win. 

She had worried about the same thing, watching her daughter play outside, or colour at the table. There would come a day where Winnie was no longer excited to see them, or just simply didn’t need them. She would grow and form her own opinions, sorting out the priorities of her needs. She would one day move to college, and then far away. 

Claire rolled her eyes, ‘We’ll get you a dog’. 

‘It won’t be the same,’ He shrugged. ‘She’s my only cuddle bug.’ 

Claire felt her heart plummet. She and Owen had been together for close to two years. They talked about children, it was all Owen wanted to discuss when Win was visiting or after they dropped her off. Despite repairing the frail relationship she had with her child, Claire was convinced she wanted no more. Even if she did, she knew her chances of conceiving were considerably low and wasn’t willing to put herself or Owen through the heartache it would undeniably create. Winnie was a fluke that would not happen again. 

Owen on the other hand, was built for children. He was in awe of Winnie the second he met her, so loving, so caring, so kind that he had remained in her life for two years - and counting. He was a magician with her nephews, and the occasional friend of Win’s who came to visit. Owen was always a smash hit at Winnie’s birthday parties, and social gatherings. Wherever Owen was, children flocked to him. He was an unintentional pied piper. 

She hated herself for saying no to him repetitively, her breath held in wait for the day he left her. There had to be someone else on their godforsaken planet that would give him what he wanted because it was what he asked for, not because they were trying to stay true to themselves for their own sanity. He told her he understood, but Claire always saw the hurt behind his eyes each time she said no. 

‘Yeah,’ Claire hummed, ‘And she’s a hog’. She teased, watching him pass the end of the bed as he moved for the hall. ‘Don’t take too long, it’s cold.’ She was suffering in the change of climate, already missing the hot sun willing to exchange it for the muggy rain. There had been a plus side to it, though. It was _freezing_ and Owen was always warm, his temperature a little too hot for cuddling in Costa Rica but perfect for Chicago. In their move, Claire had discovered a newfound love for the man, her admiration growing as she absorbed his warm curled up in bed, or on the couch. 

‘And you’ll miss me?’ He asked, watching her in the doorway as she shimmied under the covers. His grin was marvellous, wide and teasing as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Claire grinned, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she nodded at him softly. 

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt that Claire was using him for his warmth, just as Winnie used him for comfort. Either way, he didn’t seem to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to let me know what you thought!


	131. #131 - One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire seduces Owen   
> and   
> ANON: On island, Owen’s chewing Claire’s ear off with small talk in a bar. Unable to ignore the tension between them any longer, Claire interjects with ‘what else does that tongue do?’ This is 100% smut, your last prompt was a tease   
> and  
> ANON: No. 244 ‘I didn’t know you could do that’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a HUGE bloody mess and I would care but the subject makes me uncomfortable and so long as all the smut prompt are off my list I am happy.

Claire Dearing had better things to do. Though, she couldn’t deny the slight flutter in the pit of her stomach whenever Owen was around. He had a boyish charm, a slight innocence behind his rough exterior and hurt, harrowed eyes that gave the puppy a pout. For that, she was entertaining him, running the tip of her finger around the edge of her glass as the ice within cracked and clanked against the sides. 

He rambled like a child, caught in a story that wouldn’t end, the telling non-linear as he jumped from this, that and the other. His topic; the velociraptors. It was endearing to listen to him talk, a clear admiration burning with every word. It was just not how Claire pictured spending her time with the man. 

A date was a date. If she wanted to see _his girls_ she would have come past the paddock and struck up conversation there. There were in a bar, on the island, office hours over, the sun set, park guests tucked up in their Hilton beds or seeking out the small thrills of the night life Jurassic World had to offer. It was very little, if Claire was honest, but her job was Senior Assets Manager, not Guest Entertainment. 

Owen was smiling gently about some anecdote he was telling her about the trouble his raptors got it. Claire wasn’t listening, instead she focused on the dimple in his cheek and the way he bit down on his lip between pauses. His cheeks were warm, flushed with the alcohol slipping through his system. 

She didn’t know where the bravery came from, but was willing to pin it on boredom when she reached over, her hand delicately landing on his wrist, body leaning into his. Owen swallowed hard, adams apple bopping against his throat as he drew his eyes from her hand on his to her face. ‘While this is all _very_ entertaining.’ She lied, watching his eyes trace the path her tongue had just followed across her lips. ‘I’m curious as to what else your tongue can do.’ She couldn’t help herself, a slow burn had lit flame in her stomach mid afternoon and had stubbornly refused to dissipate. Claire wasn’t below returning home to the vibrator she kept in her bedside drawer, but with Owen there and willing — or so she had assumed — it was worth the risk 

He blinked at her, taken aback by her blunt statement for a split second before a coy smile split across his face, setting the dimple deep in his cheek as his eyes darkened. 

[…] 

‘ _Fuck,’_ Claire hissed, her back colliding with the headboard of her bed as Owen nudged her against it. His teeth nipped at her skin, hands caught in her dress as he tried to pull it up and over her head. 

They had stumbled into her apartment in a mad rush, incapable of keeping their hands to themselves as Owen threatened to push her resolve to the limit. They had almost found themselves having sex in the stairwell, rather than the security of her home. 

They crashed through the door, Owen’s fingers already playing with the zip on her skirt, pulling at the tab as he walked her backwards. She was sure his face hadn’t left close proximity to hers since he leant in at the bar and whispered something filthy in her ear. Exactly what his tongue could do, and how he would like to apply it to her. White hot electricity raced down her spine, curling Claire’s fingers into Owen’s shirt and pulling him forward. He had been close ever since, incapable of stepping away in fear of loosing what they had. The world was small, encased only in the space Claire Dearing occupied as they hurried across Main Street. 

She whimpered as he made his way down her neck, lips and teeth passing her collar bone to grace her chest. Her dress was gone, flung somewhere in the far recesses of the room lost and forgotten for the moment. 

A hand of hers buried itself deep into his hair, fingers threading through thick blond locks as her nails scratched against his scalp. Owen grunted, pushing against her hold as he kissed the top of her breast gently. 

He was animal beneath her, driven on pure lust and need, focused on a singular goal. It was a cliché and yet Claire couldn’t remember the last time she was someone’s sole focus. She couldn’t remember a time where the need was primal enough to control the whole situation, or where she was willing to let go. That alone was enough to set her blood on simmer. Owen hooked his fingers into the cup of her bra, pulling the fabric down rather than undoing the clasp. 

She purred when his tongue flicked at her nipple, teasing just for the reaction. Claire felt her knees buckle, suddenly uncertain of their position. She was kneeling at the head of her bed, Owen stretched out in front of her, moving his kisses lower with each passing minute. He moved from one breast, to the next, lavishing dusty pink skin before trailing down her stomach. 

He nipped at the curve of her hip, pelvis rounding her skin as he looked up at her wickedly. Claire felt the heat pull, need so pure it would rot her soul building in the pit of her stomach. He tugged, not too gently, on the hem of her underwear, pulling the small piece of fabric down as he slipped off the bed. Just like with her dress, Claire’s underwear were thrown into the pits of her room, leaving the woman bare before the man with hungry eyes. Owen leant in to kiss her, capturing her mouth roughly. His hands slid down her sides, moulding her exterior like she was clay. With his hands on her hips, Owen tugged, pulling her forward.

She fell, giving into him as her back met the duvet, arms splayed out at her sides. Owen was still on the floor, kneeling as he kissed his way up the inside of each leg. Claire whimpered with each touch of his lips, every nip and lick he made on his way up. 

She was quiet. Claire had never been all that vocal during intercourse, she kept herself to slight insecure sounds, only sucking in a startled breath when Owen reached her centre. Her back arched, her hands fisting in the fabric of her bed clothes, but nothing more than that as he waged a skilful torture across her sensitive skin. 

It was Owen who chuckled, who grunted and groaned against her, grinning to himself when he caught his hand along her curved spine, fitting his fingers between her vertebrae. He had built a line of consciousness between them, pulling her in, never giving Claire the chance to disassociate herself from the man and the situation. She wasn’t looking for a continuous thing, just using him for a particular problem. Owen, however, was unwilling to get out of her head as he brought her to the brink but refused to let her crack. 

She grunted at him quietly, hip bucking in search of friction as Owen climbed up her body, settling himself on the bed. ‘You’re quiet.’ He told her, pecking at her collar bone, and climbing the side of her neck. 

‘Is that an issue?’ She asked him, ready to defend herself if need be. He may have been the male, but Claire was the one in control here whether he liked to acknowledge it or not. 

Owen shook his head, dropping it to her shoulder for a second. His hand pulled on a loose strand of her hair, orange halo forming around her head as she wiggled back against the pillows. ‘Kinda thought redheads were noisy.’ He stole a lazy kiss, his mouth sloppy against hers, their chests rising and falling rapidly each of them out of breath. 

Her hand drew lazy circles across his back as she shrugged, rolling her eyes at the comment. ‘Almost the same as my assuming navy men were controlling in bed.’ Owen didn’t have a second to rebuke before Claire flipped them, the man suddenly on his back. She shook her hair free from the clips that contained it, taking a moment to unclasp the bra Owen had played with but didn’t remove. 

Owen blinked at her, stunned momentarily as Claire grinned, victorious. She lowered her face to greet him, the smirk smug on her cheeks as her hair fell to grace his face. ‘I didn’t know you could do that,’ Owen breathed, grinning at her with completely wonder, something sparked in the depths of his lust filled eyes as Claire pecked his cheek before reaching for the bedside drawer.

She tore through the condom wrapper with abandon, pulling the item free. Claire wasted no time in rolling the latex down his shaft, Owen waiting and willing for her command. If she lost herself there for a moment, half admiring him for the first time, Owen didn’t comment. He watched her with a lopsided grin, memorising the blush on her cheeks and chest, her freckles through her fading foundation and the way her hair fell in front of her face, tongue poking between her teeth as she concentrated. Claire wouldn’t admit that he was everything she had imagined he would be. The man wasn’t even in her yet and she knew he was a god. Some part of her was hoping he would let her down, maybe he was talented with his tongue but when it came to the bump and grind he lacked a certain something. 

They’d come to far to back out now. She could, if she really wanted to. But, the man happened to be an asshole, bringing Claire to the edge of her orgasam before pulling away, letting the roll of warmth subside, the inside of her thighs sticky with want and stubble burn. She could kick him out and finish on her own, but there was hardly any fun in that when he was trapped beneath her willing to serve to her every command. 

Owen waited for Claire’s move. The woman sinking own onto him slowly, mouth poised open, breath caught in her throat. It was Claire who moved, rotating her hips gently before finding her rhythm, picking up the pace. It wasn’t until she was comfortable that Owen joined in, groaning at the feel of her around him as he took hold of her hips to better guide them both. 

They met thrust for thrust as Owen pulled her forward, Claire’s hands moving from his chest to reach for the headboard behind him. She never relinquished her control, keeping the rhythm her own as Owen tugged on her hips, pulling her into him harder. Claire was the one who allowed it, letting the tether between them snap as she willed him to thrust harder. 

The headboard hit the wall with a slight thunk, moving with the pull of Claire’s hands as their bodies moved, driving into the other as Claire rode him unwilling to stop. It was nothing but the sound of the headboard slamming, getting a little more ferocious with every one of Owen’s grunts. 

Their pace only slowed once her climax broke, the woman panting against his neck as she sighed, body completely spent against his. 

She expected him to leave when they were done. Instead, Owen fetched Claire a glass of water and a damp cloth before he crawled back into her bed, falling flat on his stomach before dozing off. She stared at him, lying by his side the man mid conversation, teasing her about proving exactly what his tongue could do before he lost connection with the conscious realm. 

Claire hadn’t thought about who would leave in the morning, or if he would want more than just this. Lying beside him, the man on his stomach, already snoring Claire Dearing wondered where the harm was. He had loved her, as much as any haphazard date could admire the woman who allowed him access to her bed. There was no disrespect with Owen. He would be there in the morning when the sun rose, or a note would be left in his place. Either way, he was willing to acknowledge what had happened and consider her feelings as well as his.

It was one night. But, in the pit of Claire’s stomach she knew it could be more. 


	132. #132 - Of Boxing and Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: ’My ballet studio is right next to your kickboxing studio and your music is very loud and interfering with lessons and I'm annoyed and - oh no you're hot'  
> and  
> cometothedarkside-x: No. 275 ‘Do you think you could just please go one day without pissing me off’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I tried so hard to make this wonderful and then I got stuck and gave up all hope. But I hope y’all still like it anyway.

Tucked away in the upper floors of a neat red-brick building located in the middle of New York’s East Village lay Miss Claire’s School of Ballet. The sun streamed easily though floor to ceiling windows, the black frames offering a dark contrast to the linen white space filled with the hush of classical music and childish giggles.

The space was easily filled with warm light and the sweetness of a birds’ song. The road never bothered them, nor people on the street. They trained in tranquility, until the gym opened downstairs. 

_Grady’s Gym_ was the name painted across the door, underneath _Miss Claire’s School of Ballet -_ her studio, tainted with the brass nature of whomever Grady was and his preposterous gym. The bulky font didn’t sit well with Miss Claire the first day it appeared on the door, it was bold and masculine sitting right below her neat cursive, elegance defined in the shape of words. 

Renovations in the new gym took three weeks, but the sign on the door went up long before that, along with a garish red banner stuck across the front windows, _opening soon_. Already, they had bristled her feathers. 

Claire Dearing was put out. 

Pensively she anticipated the gym’s open ready to set the ground rules with the owner. Simon, the building manager - a man who had been fond of her since she came to him desperate for the second floor he was leasing. He took pity on the girl, her hands full of insurance money she didn’t know how to invest well. He told her nothing of Grady’s Gym, only dismissed her over the phone before hanging up. 

Much to her dismay the gym opened whilst she was on vacation. Claire knew it was either bad luck, or Simon orchestrating against her. Vacation time was a rare, once yearly occasion for Claire, forced on leave for no other reason than she had to give it to her employees and students.

She returned to noise. Music blasting through stereos loud enough that her quiet little studios were overcome with hard rock. Heavy beats and angry words, smashed across musical instruments seeping into her tranquil studio and shattering the calm she had built there. Her space had been violated. Carefully constructed calm, and tranquility crashing at the sound of a drum beat. 

Her third graders bore the brunt of it first thing Saturday morning. Their steps were out of time as the children looked to her with confusion, desperate to make sense of their disruption. Claire had the easy benefit of opening an hour before the gym did, her class quiet for a peaceful thirty minutes before the stereo was turned on - the music an uninvited intrusion. 

Her eye twitched, forced smile gliding across her face as her students looked to Claire for help. ‘Excuse me, Elouise.’ Claire pardoned herself from correcting the girls’ arms. The girls watched their teacher glide across the room, her back straight, shoulders settled. 

Even the mothers, sitting just outside the room, watched Claire fascinated for her next move. She mounted the stairs easily, hand hovering over the wooden banister, unawares that she had an audience only a few feet behind her. 

Without invitation Claire Dearing stepped into _Grady’s Gym_ and moved directly for the stereo. She pulled the plug without hesitation, holding the wire in her hand as she looked about the room, ready for someone to take notice of her. Heads turned immediately. There was less than a dozen men scattered about the gym equipment, most of them carrying about their day despite the cease of musical entertainment.

It was two men, the gym’s name printed on the back of their shirts that turned to face her. ‘Hey!’ One shouted, irritation marked across his face already aware that someone had tampered with the business’ things rather than the stereo malfunctioning. Amusement quickly replaced his sour expression, features softening into a smug smile once he caught sight of her. 

‘You must be from upstairs.’ He cocked his head at her, eyes taking a slow march up her body, taking in each inch of her attire. Claire Dearing was a force to be reckoned with on a good day, on a bad one was another story all together. 

She stood in front of the gym employee, heels pressed together in ballet flats, stockings and leg warmers on her legs, up to the thin fabric of her skirt that covered the black leotard she wore. Perhaps it wasn’t the best attire for confrontation. 

‘How can I help you, princess?’ He asked, cocking an eyebrow at her as his arms crossed over his chest. Claire glared, none to pleased with the moniker he’d unceremoniously granted her. 

She rolled her shoulders, straightening her back a little further as she lifted her nose. ‘I would like to speak with your manager, please.’ The other man who turned, the gym’s brand on his back clicked his tongue, only a step behind the first. He wasn’t as cocky as the man she was speaking with, but certainly along for the ride. 

‘You’re lookin’ at him.’ The first spoke, shoulders broad, muscles tensing in his arms. Claire would be lying if she did not admit that she noticed his size. He wasn’t much taller than her, perhaps only a few inches, but his body mass was an easy double beside hers. ‘The name’s Owen Grady and that’s my stereo - not a particularly great way to introduce yourself.’ 

Claire scoffed, ‘I could say the same for you, Mister Grady. Your racket is obstructing my classes and throwing my students off balance. I do not appreciate it, one bit.’ 

‘Those your students?’ Owen asked, nodding his head towards the glass doors, young faces pressed to it as Claire’s students watched on with eager smiles. They knew the kind of destruction their teacher could unleash and were more than willing to bare witness to it. When she turned, facing them all with a glare, the girls made themselves scarce, scampering back to the studio prepared to pretend they were never downstairs. 

‘Look,’ Claire tried to level, foot tapping impatiently. ‘I’m trying to run a business and if my students cannot hear the music, let alone my instruction - it is all for naught. Your system is _too loud_.’ 

Owen shrugged, ‘Aren’t they supposed to learn to a count?’ He asked, counting to four twice in a familiar pattern as the colour on Claire’s cheeks deepened. 

She rolled her eyes, collecting her composure quickly as she dropped the extension cord to the ground. ‘It’s really none of your business, Mister Grady, keep the noise down or I will report you to Simon.’ 

His laid-back approach to everything - including herself was starting to fluster Claire. Nothing affected him, no threat, no warning, no scolding tone. She was out of options and it was making the heat in her limbs rise a little further, her cheeks set ablaze. Owen chuckled, the sound arrogant in his throat, exactly the way he intended. ‘Masrani? Yeah, he told me you would say that.’ Claire huffed at his self satisfied smirk, fingers rolling into her palm as her nails scratched the skin there. 

‘I have classes to teach.’ She rolled her shoulders once again, the only thing she was seemingly capable of doing in the man’s presence, his height a little above hers, his body mass certainly denser. She was a woman, a lady, respectable. There would be no stamping of her feet or the flick of her wrist, she would not scream and shout, but she would quietly demand. ‘Keep the noise down, _please_.’ Was all Claire offered Owen, the please strained as her eyes flicking towards the man behind him before she turned on the spot and walked out the door.

Claire didn’t stop moving. She headed straight for the stairs, taking them delicately as if her blood wasn’t boiling under her skin, threatening to burn her alive. Her third graders were huddled in a group, whispering, as their mothers sat in the stalls doing the exact same; their voices a little louder. Claire ignored them, stepping back into the studio and taking her usual place in front of the mirror. She clapped her hands sharply, bringing the attention of her students back into the room and on their lesson. 

[…]

Owen Grady was driving her insane. It was a slow torture. He kept the stereo off - or down low - for the remainder of the day once Claire had spoken to him. But in the weeks that followed he alternated in having it on and off, the music always loud, pressing on the back of her brain and completely shattering the calm, _educated_ , environment she had crafted with the likes of Mozart, Bach, and Debussy. He made a point of winking at her, whenever she passed the gym’s doors, Owen at the counter, prepared to fluster her a little more. 

She was borderline ready for murder, the scenario already planned out in her head if he so much as thought of playing bass heavy music, enough to vibrate the floor her dancers were _trying_ to dance on. 

Owen had turned it into a game Claire was very unwilling to play. Within a week, she had learnt to turn her own music up, battle it against his despite the headache it gave her. 

The weather turned cold, trickling her students through the doors in fewer numbers and with less excitement. Her junior classes ended before the sky drew too dark, leaving room for the seniors. Winter was likely their worst season, and yet Claire’s favourite. There was something other worldly about the studio when the clouds were a menacing gray, the rain falling on the large windows, lightning adding an extra touch. 

‘And where is Mr. Grace this evening?’ Claire addressed the girls before her, their young faces expressing the weather in their eyes. There were only five of her seniors, seventeen year old kids who came in three days a week for class. Most of them, at this point, were serious about ballet. One or two enjoyed it purely for sport. Of the five there was only one male, whom of which they relied on heavily. Benjamin Grace however was not in the studio that dreary afternoon. 

Claire looked to one of the girls in particular. ‘He wasn’t at school today, Miss Claire. I think he’s sick.’ Lauren explained regretfully, not before adding that she had tried to call her friend but it went unanswered. 

Without Ben there was no use to the class. Friday nights were spent rehearsing for the small group’s performance at an upcoming community event. They needed a male, someone would could help with the few lifts in their routine, they needed Ben. 

Regretfully, Claire had an idea. She was uneasy on sending the girls home, hateful ofwasted afternoon, especially in such dreary weather. ‘Just, ah - give me a minute.’ She excused, heading out of the studio and for the stairs. 

‘Zara!’ Claire called out to the woman, half bumping into her on the stairs. When her business expanded, Claire realised she would need staff, there was too many students, and too many classes for Claire to run completely on her own. She bought the third storey of the building, renovated it for more studio space and bought on Zara to help the demand. Unfortunately for Claire, her coworker’s last class for the day finished an hour earlier than Claire’s. All prospective male students had left the building, headed out into the dreary weather with every intention of going straight home. 

‘Why don’t you ask someone in the gym?’ Zara suggested as Claire scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to rewrite the lesson plan and rehearsal time in her head. ‘They may not have the ballet training, but they’ll be strong enough to lift the girls without injury.’ Claire groaned, the last thing she wanted was to step into Grady’s Gym and ask the man for a favour. But, if it meant her girls could practice - even though it would have been far better had Ben been there - it was likely the only option she had. At least they would still be dancing. 

Zara shrugged, ‘It’s worth a shot’. She offered to go looking for volunteers in place of Claire, her boss only shaking her head. ‘Hey, maybe he’s not in today. Saves you that interaction.’ Even without a name, Claire knew who Zara was referring to. It was obvious. That man was the only person to grate her gears in the whole gym. His business partner, Barry was a kind, gentle soul who always managed a polite hello or a simple wave. He’d hit Owen over the back of the head on a few occasions whilst he was bothering Claire. Alas, Owen Grady was her soul issue with the place. His persistence in irritating her, the reason Claire was sure she had developed a few gray hairs.

Claire straightened her shoulders as she always did with serious thought. Zara offered her a comforting smile before she moved down the stairs one woman ready to go home, the other, to face humiliation. 

The gym felt just as the studio did. The lights didn’t seem right with the dark skies outside the windows, the space practically empty save a few stragglers who didn’t mind being out in the weather, or found themselves caught in it. Radiohead played softly, the hollow sound adding to a misbegotten aesthetic, unintentionally created. 

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in.’ It was, unmistakably, Owen his voice reaching out for Claire just a little to her left. She rolled her eyes and exhaled a sigh before she turned to him bracing herself for whatever torment he had in mind. ‘How can I help, Dearing?’ Claire rolled her eyes at the use of her last name. It was better than _princess._

‘I’m missing a student this evening.’ Her tone was dull, almost monotone in her speech. 

‘I ain’t got ‘em.’ Owen interrupted, hands in his pockets, too impatient to actually let her finish. 

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘I know.’ She wasn’t even accusing him. ‘I know some of the boys come in here when they don’t have class. I was hoping there was one. And …’ She levelled Owen with a glare, half daring him to interrupt her. ‘… if there weren’t any here, then maybe a gentleman would be willing to assist.’ 

‘Sure.’ Owen shrugged, smirk crawling across his cheeks as a light flashed in his deep green eyes. Claire took a deep breath, breathing through her nose as she glared at him. She would take anyone but Owen Grady. 

‘Mr. Grady, I’m sure there’s someone else here who would be willing to help out for thirty minutes.’ He half turned, surveying the room that stretched out from where they were standing. Turning back to Claire, Owen shrugged. 

‘What’s wrong with me?’ She saw the challenge the second she spoke. Never one to back down, Claire allowed him to follow her back to the studio. 

[…]

‘We’ll start you off on something simple so you don’t injure my students.’ Claire announced, the girls laughing as Owen stood to her right, the wall of mirrors behind them, class of girls in front. 

Claire wasted no time in jumping into her lesson. Showing Owen what she needed of his assistance. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision in offering to help. Her hands were tiny compared to his, soft fingers wrapping around his large calloused ones, guiding them to her small waist. 

They collided like meteorites, failing to break apart in the earth’s atmosphere. Under the surface, tension bubbled. It was thick and sticky, almost completely unavoidable and driving them both insane. Although, neither made a comment. Owen continued to taunt her, and Claire continued to live as though his presence in her life was a complete inconvenience. It was. 

‘Do you think you could just please go one day without pissing me off?’ Claire warned, fighting with Owen’s hands before he let them rest where she wanted, small fingers tightening his grip on her.

Owen shrugged, chuckling into her flame red hair. ‘You’re only asking for thirty minutes, princess. I think I can handle that.’ She rolled her eyes as her feet left the ground, Owen quickly gaining a grip on what she required of him. 

The warmth of his touch was gone before Claire could adjust to the burning of it. Her feet were back on the ground, Owen staying away from her as though she had shocked him with electricity. 

He was on his absolute best behaviour, following Claire’s instruction to a tee. She had worried at first, of how he would behave in front of her students but had been proved that she knew less about the man’s character than what she thought she did. 

[…]  

It was the worser days of winter weather, where storms were so severe children didn’t show up for school, and workers called in sick to their employers. She watched her first class struggle through the day, the dark skies above their heads too dense to remind them it was only morning.   
  
Claire hurried her students out on those days, sending them home early to warm bed and coco well aware that they needed to train but that simple comforts should also come their way. She cancelled classes, sending out a group text to all those who should be attending, giving them permission for a day off.

Instead of going home, locking up the studio and calling it a night, Claire allowed the raging storm to be her music. She left the secondary lights on as she moved with the howl of the wind, and the thrum of Grady’s Gym. She lost herself inside her head, watching her movements in the mirrors as she danced. 

‘So, I was wonderin’, is that stick up your butt twenty-four-seven, or is that just a business lady facade?’ A voice reached out to her, stopping Claire in her tracks and nearly making the woman topple over. She wasn’t used to being distracted, let alone caught off guard and her knee had never been the same. It was an unreliable break, something that was supposed to keep her stable but never promised to keep her safe. 

Claire huffed, both out of breath and in annoyance as she turned to address the man. ‘What do you want, Mr. Grady?’

‘Owen,’ He corrected with a shrug, drawing his name out low and long. ‘Dunno. I saw the lights were still on even though a student hasn’t climbed those stairs in close to two hours.’

‘Keeping an eye on my classes, are you?’ He shrugged again, hands slipping into the pockets of his pants. He seemed the most comfortable that way, the stance a common one for the man when he squared up to her. 

‘Why’re you still here?’ 

Claire crossed her arms over her chest, guarding herself as she squinted at the man. ‘I do happen to own the floor, Mr Grady. I can be here as long as I please.’ 

‘Yeah, but the weather’s horrible. You have no classes. You could be at home, I don’t know … doin’ whatever you like to do in your spare time.’ 

Claire moved for the barre against the large windows. She might as well stretch while he was bothering her with inane questions. ‘I like being here. I have lessons to plan, and the books to keep.’ It seemed to be enough of an answer for Owen who only stood there dumbly for a minute before speaking again. 

‘Why do you teach?’ She repeated again, that it was what she liked doing. ‘Those kids look up to you. They’re all talk about Miss Claire. Why ain’t you off being a prima ballerina, travelin’ the world?’

‘Why twenty questions?’ She fired back, watching Owen skeptically. 

He shrugged again, eyes turned towards the storm outside her windows. ‘I guess I wanna get to know you better?’ 

Claire hummed, nodding to herself quietly as she stepped away from the barre and moved towards him. ‘Knee injury.’ Claire offered simply, eyeing the man up and down. ‘Can I borrow you for something?’ She asked curiously, missing the way his heart leapt in his chest at the simple suggestion. 

Owen nodded, swallowing hard as he watched her, terrified of the move she would make. Barry had warned him that the woman wanted him dead, now was her opportunity. His gym was open, but empty, and her students had all been sent home. Owen was half convinced he was going to die and that no one would find his body until morning. 

Claire undid the long skirt she was wearing, letting it slip to the floor to reveal the bottom half of her moss green leotard. It was enough to stop Owen from breathing, the man kicking himself for getting excited about absolutely nothing. He was right though, death was on his tracks but in a far sweeter way than he anticipated. 

She moved around him quietly, tapping at his legs, moving them into position as she muttered easy instruction. Happy with his stance Claire stepped back. She watched their positions in the mirror for a second before asking him if he was ready. 

With a nod from Owen, Claire moved, falling forward as if to move into a handstand. Instead, her arms locked around Owen’s thigh, her body falling against his as he lifted her up onto his shoulder. Their movements were fluid, Owen’s hand on her stomach, the other on her thigh as he aided her body in rolling across his, her hands letting go of their lock around his leg as she sat upright on the back of his shoulder. He felt her catch her breath once she was righted. Their eyes locked in the mirror, Claire watching his stance, tracing the lines of their positions and mentally taking note.

She voiced for him to watch carefully, the way his knee was bent, the point in her toes - and her fingers - the arch of her legs. It was useless to tell him and yet she conducted the whole thing like a lesson, glad it worked as well as she remembered before putting her own students to the test. 

Owen extended his leg as Claire asked, his hands holding her biceps as she slid down his back, her toes seeking out the floor. 

Claire tested him, throwing herself at the man trusting that he would catch her. Guiding him through several things she never had the time to practice before encouraging her students to do the same. Owen listened perfectly, he caught her, he moved to the right position, he stood like a rock, his knees only bending when she told him to.

They were like that for an hour. Claire sometimes practicing the same lift over and over until she had it perfected. Owen prodding questions as to why she didn’t have a partner, someone who had a better education in ‘this stuff’ rather than him. It was an opportunity and she took it. 

‘You should come down to the gym. I run a mean kickboxin’ class. You’d likely get a thrill outta it.’ Owen suggested grinning at Claire as she rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a little similar to ballet.’ He argued, trying to figure out a way to talk her into it. Even if it was through a lie. Owen wasn’t entirely sure what she would get out of the class, but he was willing to bed she’d enjoy learning how to kick his ass. 

Claire only brushed off his comment, telling him she had just as much interest in taking one of his classes as he did ballet. ‘This is a class, isn’t it?’ Owen countered, Claire correcting his stance in a sharp teacherly way as she moved for him again. 

Instead of making the jump and leaping into his positioned arms, Claire fell forward. She cursed at herself, Owen catching her easily as she reached down to touch her knee. She didn’t mean to roll her fist and slam it against his hard chest. Owen didn’t complain, allowing Claire to press her forehead against collarbone before she pulled away. 

‘Time to call it a day?’ He asked, when she pulled her head away, shadows drawing lines across her face. Claire stared at him, shame glimmering in her eyes as her breathing picked up. She didn’t know what it was; be it close proximity, self loathing, or the distinct drum of _need_ that had coiled in her belly.

Her hands moved from his chest to his face, fingers against his stubble as she rose up on the tips of her toes to grace his lips with her own. It turned wild in a heartbeat, Owen mindful that she was hurt as he slid his arms around her waist and leant forward, pushing into her kiss with fierce longing. 

Thunder rolled in the skies outside the building, spurring them on as the tension between them reached it’s peak. Lightning flashed thrice, following them across the room as Owen backed Claire against the barre. Her fingers dug into the blades of his shoulders before travelling down his sides, pulling at the tank he wore until she collided with the skin of his lower back. 

They worked with a push and pull, tandem movement taking turns as they boiled down to panting breaths and quiet little moans. Owen grunted against her neck, hissing at the touch of her cold fingers against his burning skin. He was fire and she was ice, setting each other ablaze and putting each other out. 

Even Claire could appreciate the messy dance they played, mirrored in the reflective glass as Owen played her like an instrument, his fingers deftly scoping out the crevices of her body, learning the chords and the strings. Every cliche slid into place as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, eyelids fluttering as Owen found a sensitive spot behind her ear. 

They moved with urgency, like the world was ready to end and they were running out of time.Owen didn’t bother with peeling the leotard from her body, only lifted Claire off her feet and settled her on the barre. She squeaked with the movement, despite Owen lifting her for the better part of an hour. Her hands fiddled with the hem of his gym shorts, one slipping inside, fingers skirting down his stomach, the muscles there jumping as the other tugged at the waistband. 

[…]

She avoided him for two weeks, a feat Owen thought near impossible considering they both shared a building. He gave Claire her space because despite her thinking he was just a thick headed neanderthal Owen liked to accredit himself with a little respect. Evidently, Claire did not want to see him and for a few days that was fine. 

In fact, he didn’t see her for a whole week which made the whole _giving her space_ thing easy. It when she started appearing in the hallway, on the street, the stairs, the subway, that Owen started to have an issue. Every sight of her set his heart racing, making his head dizzy as all the blood in his body rushed south. He couldn’t help the natural response, he could barely get her out of his head let alone control himself and the worst part was Owen didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He didn’t want to consider that it was the sex, although he wasn’t that high on his opinion of himself to assume he was great. He’d like to think he was but if it was bad sex that drove Claire away, he wouldn’t protest. She couldn’t escape it, he mused to himself, he had fucked her against the mirrors of her dance studio, Claire propped up on the barre as he wasted no time in tugging her leotard aside and sliding into her with a sharp thrust. 

She had finished. He made sure of it, asking the tentative question after he’d come unsure of if she joined him. Claire’s voice had been so quiet, a blush rising on her cheeks as she bit her lip and shook her head honestly. They fell into a weak mess on the floor, as Owen made his way down her body, Claire’s hands in his hair. He had nipped and sucked, tongue circling her clit as she quivered her orgasam snapping under his mouth.

They had lain on the floor for what felt like hours, Owen’s hand tucked into hers as he kissed the tips of her fingers while she laughed. They left themselves to hushed voices and stolen kisses until thunder rolled again jolting Claire up from the floor with a surprised squeak. Time was made apparent as she whispered she should go and Owen let her leave without a fight. 

He should have offered to see her home, at least attempted to keep the line of contact open, keep her talking, interested and in awe. He lost her the second she walked out the door, Claire slipping through his fingers as she pushed some space between them.

Barry cleared his throat, bringing Owen back to the real world as he caught his attention. ‘It’s late, I’m heading off.’ Wednesday’s were their quietest night, but none the less it surprised over that they had reached 8pm, an hour before close. Beyond the windows the world was dark, the sun going to bed despite the city’s want for no sleep. 

Barry stepped through the door, moving into the stairway that offered exit to the street, and entrance to Claire’s studio via the interior stairs. As his friend left, the gym was filled, intermittently, with the sound of giggling girls as they joined Barry in the foyer, the group of them tumbling out the door. 

Owen watched Claire’s last class leave for the night, smiling at the mothers who looked in at him, desperate to gain a peek. He wanted to work up the courage to go up there, to ask her what went wrong, what drove her to avoid him. Owen was far too weak for that, too scared to face a truth he didn’t want to know. Although her wish to not see him was damaging without explanation, Owen knew it had potential to be worse if he knew the truth. 

He busied himself in reorganising the gym for the morning. Owen tidied pamphlets, readjusted equipment and switched off unneeded lights. There was the option to leave early, no one would be popping in now, not so close to close. He wouldn’t leave until he saw Claire climb down the stairs and exit onto the street. Even if he had no intention to talk to her, he didn’t want her to be there alone. 

Owen didn’t hear the door swing open behind him, or the sound of person approaching. It wasn’t until she cleared her throat - causing Owen to jump - that he spun around, shocked to see Claire standing there. He only stared at her, a hand rubbing at his eyes in disbelief. 

Claire Dearing, the very same woman who had avoided him for two weeks was standing like some goddamned angel in the middle of his gym. 

‘Hey,’ She smiled meekly her usual confidence squelched into girlish bashfulness. ‘You, ah, told me I should check out a class?’ Her statement was a question as she watched Owen blink at her, incapable of getting over his shock.

‘Now?’ Owen half squeaked, his voice barely under his control. Claire bit her lip, nodding slowly as her hands, in front of her, fiddled with the strap of her bag. 

He was closing, not starting a class and when the offer had initially extended his intention was for her to join a group not seek a private. Although, Owen wasn’t about ready to turn her away when she came to him willingly. He jumped into action, hands slapping his thighs as he looked around the empty gym. 

There was a bounce in his step as he moved her to the back studio, the space he an Barry reserved for classes. ‘You’re gonna have to forget all that ballet stuff.’ He nodded to her, a hand circling a finger around her. Ballet posture would not help in his gym, he needed her shoulders loose and her knees bent. 

She rolled her eyes, asking what it was he needed from her as Owen showed her the stance he wanted, vastly different from Claire’s five positions. He gave her muffled instructions, his head buried in a cupboard as he sought out a pair of gloves that would fit her. 

By the time he turned around, Claire had figured out the fighting stance he wanted. He had to give her credit for her attempt, despite the fact that the lines in her body were far too straight, her toes pointed and her shoulders inline. He chuckled at her, nodding at her hands as he held the gloves open. 

‘Can’t have you breakin’ those small hands.’ His grin was pure despite the nervousness that had built in his belly. Claire stepped out of the stance to stand closer, her hand sliding into the glove as Owen adjusted the strap around her tiny wrist gently. 

‘You drive me crazy,’ Claire whispered when he wasn’t paying attention, his focus on the velcro and making sure it wouldn’t scratch her pale skin. He exhaled shakily when he heard it, eyes moving from the glove to her face as Claire stared back at him intensely sapphires sparkling in her eyes. ‘So crazy I can’t think straight.’ She shook her head, eyes rolling as a smile graced her lips. 

Owen couldn’t help the same smile from skipping across his cheeks, settling in the stubble to have a picnic there. ‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’ He asked, his hands encompassing her small wrist, all his non-visual focused on that point of contact. 

Claire hummed, their faces closer than they were before her eyes pulling a line towards his lips. She had needed time to think about it. To consider if the mental torture he was inflicting one she enjoyed or one that was bound to make her insane. She told him as much, hence the two week break. She needed to _think_ without him because if she didn’t they would only continuously fall into bed until one of them was prepared to pull their hair out. She was logical, analytical, prepared. She would not step into this until she knew it was for the best. 

She broke the space between them, pushing forward to kiss him tenderly. ‘The good kind.’ 


	133. #133 - Luggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @bryc-dlls-hwrd: I wish you would write this ‘I took your suitcase from the airport baggage claim on accident’ AU

 

Claire Dearing had been flying since she was four-years-old. The ins and outs of airports were no stranger; domestic terminals, and international ones alike. They were like a second home, an odd comfort that she was heading out, or coming back. They were a buoy in the sea of people and places, family holidays, and business trips. 

She had missed her fair share of flights, been delayed, or kept back due to severe weather. Never, in thirty years, had someone else taken her luggage. Never had it been misplaced or put on the wrong plane let alone wind up in the hands of a passenger who had the same taste in sleek black suitcases. 

Her sister had criticised her for years for not buying something more flamboyant, or in the least, tying a colourful ribbon around the handle. But, having had no prior incidents Claire Dearing never saw reason as to why. Until now. 

The airline wouldn’t give her details on _where_ they thought her bag could be let alone who the last bag (the one that looked like hers but definitely was not) belonged too. They would only take her information, typing out her name into the computer as she tapped her fingers against the counter. 

‘A couple of days?! No … no, no, no,’ Claire gaped at the rotund woman with a tired face, her eyes blown wide as panic set fire to her brain. They would get back in touch with her in a couple of days, _if_ (and it was a very strong if) her luggage decided to make an appearance, or if the other passenger called in realisation that they had collected the wrong bag. ‘No,’ She said the word again, dragging out out long and low. ‘I need that bag now, I need it today I cannot possibly wait _a couple of days_.’ Life simply never handed Claire a piece of coal instead of a lemon. In fact, even in her youth Father Christmas refrained from coal filled stockings. 

Misfortune, whom had been no stranger in her early teens, had been moderately absent since Claire started college. This was not going to be a misfortunate event. It was not going to happen, not on Claire Dearing’s watch. Not today.

It happened. 

The whole ordeal was - _definitely_ \- out of her control. There was nothing Claire could say, do, or bribe into getting the information and the result she wanted. Had it not been for the imbecile who took her luggage having no name or form of contact on the exterior Claire would not have needed to beg the clerk. But, regardless, whomever had taken her luggage was as careless with theirs as they were with hers; completely inconsiderate in checking if they owned the bag before plucking it from the carousel. 

Claire could be thankful that she was home. At least she wasn’t caught in New York without her luggage or Tokyo. There could be worse cities and worse scenarios. Taking a deep breath she parted from the help desk, thanking the clerk briskly as she disappeared in search of her car. 

There wasn’t anything important in her suitcase, nothing but clothes and an extra pair of pumps. That was until she got home to discover her laptop was in there, along with her make-up case which wasn’t on the highest end of her priorities, and even though she was an independent woman who didn’t care about the opinions others had of her. There was no way she would walk into work without her make-up on. The gym, her favourite cafe, the park when she is on a run; all appropriate places for a make-up free face. Her office was not one of them. 

Claire Dearing liked things to be a particular way. It was only early on a Saturday afternoon, and yet she was already taking into consideration what would happen on Monday morning if she did not have her make-up or her laptop filled with finished reports. She could only hope her computer synced properly before she turned it off, allowing Claire to access her files from her iPad. 

With every hour that passed, her bag’s whereabouts still unknown, Claire grew impatient. She had done all she could without being completely irritated that she was missing personal belongings. She gave up at 6:30pm, stopped tapping her fingers against the counter in frustration and gave into the meal kit service she’d ordered. At least something was delivered on time. 

Her soy and ginger beef with soba noodles was prepped and on her plate within the hour, Claire working out her frustrating in the kitchen rather than calling the airline and demanding an explanation. She needed to realise it was out of their hands. Someone else had taken her bag. There was nothing she could do but sit and wait and hope the idiot had opened it (although she really didn’t want them to) but also knew her contact information was printed neatly on the inside. 

She was in the process of soaking in a deep bubble bath, hair piled on top of her head, expensive candles burning on nearly every surface as her worn and faded copy of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ sat in her hands. She lost herself in the book, which was Claire’s very intention as the warm water soothed her, the lightest hint of rosewood lifting from the bubbles and invading her senses. 

Her phone vibrated rudely on the stand beside the bath, snapping Claire from the fictional world she had visited countless times since her college lit class. She glared at her phone for a second, wondering why on earth she had even bothered to bring it into the bathroom with her.    
  


**_Unknown.  
8:45pm:_**   
_This Claire Dearing?_  
  


She replaced the book with her phone temporarily as Claire glared at the screen. She replied, with a short and easy  _yes.  
  
_

**_Unknown._ **

**_8:55pm:_ **

_ Oh good  _

_I have your bag_   
  


**_Unknown._ **

**_8:56pm:_ **

_You can have it back for $100_   
  


Claire glared at her phone, ready to dial the number and demand they hand over her bag before she got the police involved. And really, a hundred dollars, the bag alone was worth more than that. 

They really were an idiot. 

Her phone buzzed again just as she was about to hit call, mind fuming.   
  


**_Unknown._ **

**_9:00pm:_ **

_ I’m kidding _

_Please know I was kidding_   
  


Claire didn’t find it funny. Although, she could see the humour in it. If the joke was not aimed at her or her personal affects. She replied with a single ‘ _ha’_ and askance into when she could get her things back.  
  


**_Unknown._ **

**_9:02pm:_ **

_ It’s kind of late _

_ I’m a little drunk _

_Can I come by tomorrow?_   
  


It was no inconvenience for Claire. She was headed to bed as soon as the water in the tub went cold. If she managed to last a few hours without her things, she could continue to do so while she slept. Claire replied with the affirmative, promising to confirm her address to the complete stranger in the morning. 

[…] 

She woke to a text. Eyes blurry, mind still a little foggy as she squinted at the screen of her mobile.  
  


**_Bag Jerk._ **

**_7:45am:_ **

_Coffee preference?_   
  


Claire responded with her address. She pulled herself out of bed lazily, basking in the idea of Sunday morning as she listened to the city wakeup outside her window. She dressed in gym clothes, her every intention to go for a run after her bag was dropped off. 

Easily, Claire tucked herself into her morning routine brewing coffee as she made a bowl of yoghurt and musli, sliced strawberries and a banana thrown in on the top. The early morning news played in the background as the clock ticked, time passing by while she waited. 

An hour passed and there was no sign of her bag guy. Claire was impatient, she needed her run, her routine, her things - and she needed them without delay. She contemplated leaving the house and letting her bag thieving idiot leave it at the door. But, she didn’t want to risk him not leaving it at all.

By the time a knock resounded heavily against the solid material of Claire’s door - he was two and a half hours past his quarter to eight text. She was livid, vile adrenaline pumping through her veins as she reached for the handle, fingers twitching. 

She had practiced what to say to this moron, male or female, the irritation rising within her as the clock continued to tick into her weekend, eating away at her day as she awaited their arrival. Claire was sure they must have held occupation within the repair industry, promising clients they’ll arrive within a four hour window - and regardless, they’re still late. 

Claire didn’t know what she expected in her bag thief. She hadn’t put much thought into it, other than the inconvenience of her things being missing. In that, she did not expect the six foot something, dirty blonde haired man with his chiseled looks and charming smile. 

Claire could practically hear her irritation - red hot - hitting cool water, sizzling as it evaporated. Well, not all of it entirely. She was still pissed of that she’d been made to wait two hours for this idiot. But, there he was, grinning with straight white teeth and sun kissed skin, her bag in one hand, a drink tray in the other. 

‘I, ah, I didn’t know what kind of coffee you drink.’ He shrugged, extending the tray with an easy smile that did not portray the nervousness she heard in his tone. ‘You are Claire, right?’ She nodded with a hum, taking the offered cup despite already having one that morning. ‘I’m Owen, so sorry about your bag.’ He handed it over, swivelling it in front of his legs as Claire grabbed for the handle. 

‘Next time, be a little more aware.’ She warned, thanking him for the coffee as she moved to turn her back. 

‘Hey, next time - put an identifier on your bag.’ He fought, responding with rigger and an inability to hold his tongue. 

Claire mumbled, half nodding to herself. ‘Noted, thanks.’ She attempted again to shut him out, closing the door and going about her day as if the moron didn’t exist. A thought came to her, a incessant worry that would bug Claire until she knew the answer. ‘Did you go through my things?’ She asked, unable to help herself. 

Owen blinked, staring at her for a second as he shook his head. ‘Ah, no.’ His response was simple, he knew it wasn’t his bag the second he opened it, clothes neatly folded and clean not to mention entirely too feminine in comparison to what he had initially packed. ‘Shame you have to travel with a vibrator though.’ His expression changed, lips curling into a smirk as he winked at her.

She felt her cheeks burn, embarrassment tearing across her face as this man - a stranger - cracked a crude joke. Claire knew he was kidding, knew not to get defensive or embarrassed because she hadn’t packed it. She, however, couldn’t help the red flare on her cheeks or her sudden inability to look him in the eye. 

‘Okay,’ She sighed, trying to move him along with a sing-song voice. ‘Thank you so much for returning my bag. I don’t know how to repay you, Mr. …’ Claire paused, knowing it would take a second for the man to fill her in.

‘Grady. Owen Grady, and really it’s no issue making sure a bag gets back to it’s pretty lady.’ He winked again, the blush on Claire’s cheeks deepening an extra two shades. Who was he? Who did he think he was? And, was he really flirting with her? She couldn’t tell if he was being serious of if she was just delusional, half blinded by his bad boy grin. Never before had Claire Dearing been thwarted by good looks. ‘And, hey, you - ah, you have my number now?’ He winked at her again, in terms of repayment. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the city. Could probably use a guide.’ 

Claire had extended the words as curtesy and custom more than actually meaning it. Though, had he asked for money she might have thrust a twenty dollar bill in his hand and been done with it. ‘We’ll see.’ She had said it to get rid of him as she closed the door, rolling her eyes at herself once he was gone.

Her phone buzzed, the sound rumbling against the kitchen counter as Claire heaved a sigh.  
  


**_Bag Jerk._ **

**_10:16am:_ **

_ How’s Tuesday sound? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, let me know what you thought!


	134. #134 - Charlie and Show-and-Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Can you please write Charlie taking Elliot in for show and tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 fics in a 24 hour period, aren't you lucky ducks. Be kind to one another please.

 

[C&E Index](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/143039456119/here-you-can-find-all-my-published-pieces-for-the)

* * *

 

**CHARLIE AND SHOW-AND-TELL**

Charlie was a little less than impressed with her baby sister. She was on and off, inquisitive and simultaneously weary. She didn’t like that baby Elliot had taken all the attention - stealing it away from only child Charlie who was yet to adjust.

In trying to cope with their newborns sudden and unplanned early arrival Owen and Claire were tucked away inside the walls of a hospital on the other side of the country. That made them inaccessible to Charlie, only allowed to FaceTime with them before bed on occasional days. They tried to be there for her as much as they could, calling every night when they weren’t preoccupied with a medical emergency. Regardless of the hullabaloo, Charlie handled it exceptionally well, glowing in the company of her aunt and grandmother who took temporary care of her until Owen returned home.

He spent a weekend trying to frantically piece together the cot he’d left forgotten, the need for it to be built seemingly so far away three weeks ago. It took a team, Owen recruiting Lorna who had thrown in the towel while he was away giving up on the Swedish furniture and it’s impossible instructions.

When her sister had come home, actually home - not relocated to a hospital in San Diego rather than NYC - Charlie had to face reality. Her sister was a little more frightening in their home than what she had been tucked away in a hospital. She was real, she invaded Charlie’s space, and most of all she continued to dictate her parents’ time.

Charlie went from clinging to her father's pant leg and giving her infant sister the stink eye, to occasionally curling up with Claire while she fed the newborn, curiously asking questions as she held her sister’s tiny hand or foot. When she learnt that Elliot gained all her nutrients from breastmilk rather than eating dinner at the table with the rest of them, or having snacks - which Claire warned weren’t actually all that healthy for her daughter as Owen and Charlie shoved a Twinkie in each of their mouths. Charlie insisted on feeding her mother Honey Joys, incessant that Elliot would like them and she was only trying to  _share_.

She was sat at the kitchen counter, legs swinging under the stool sweetly when she asked if she could take her sister as show-and-tell. It was Charlie’s turn that Friday and she had failed to mention it until the Wednesday.

The kitchen was a family affair, Owen and Claire moving around the other as they prepped afternoon tea, Elliot sitting on the counter in a small bouncer. Charlie watched her sister, arms crossed on the bench top as she leant forward. ‘I could get Lacy Turner to swap me for her guinea pig.’ The girl mused, leg kicking the cupboard beneath her as her knee found its way onto the counter. Charlie was knees first in everything, it explained the bruises and scrapes, and the half a packet of band-aids each week. Claire thought she had grown out of subtly climbing the furniture, maturing slightly now that she was at school. Fondly, she mused, they hadn’t moved past that yet.

‘Charlie, you can’t swap your sister for anything.’ Owen scolded softly, his tone coated in humour.

The girl grumbled, ‘Why not?’ Her voice innocent and high pitched, she caught the way her father half rolled his eyes, looking up from the carrot he was cutting into even chunks.

‘Because she’s not a thing, Charlie, she’s your  _sister_. Besides the trade market in the playground has gone downhill. A guinea pig for a baby? Puh-lease.’ The girl giggled leaning over to pinch a carrot as she settled back in her chair.

Charlie munched on the vegetable, face drawn in concern. ‘What am I gonna take then?’ She asked, turning to her mother who was always full of answers. ‘Charlie Bowman didn’t not even bring his brother in and he’s a baby too!’

Owen hummed as if the thought of it all was scandalous, ‘Well, if that’s the case then we have to outdo Charlie Bowman’. The little boy in Charlie’s grade, and sharing the same name had been the girl’s nemesis since the second day of school. ‘But, Mama will have to bring her in just before lunch break.’ Claire nodded, knowing her schedule was free, aside from Elliot’s sleep times.

‘She can’t go in my school bag?’ That earned her a pointed glare from both parents, each of them raising an eyebrow as if to ask if her question was serious. There had always been a line with Charlie, genuine silliness and ridiculous questions asked just to see the rile she could get out of either or both adults. Charlie turned her head back to the reader in front of her, forcing the words on the page out of her mouth.

[…]

Friday morning arrived with gusto, Charlie still bleary-eyed as she stood on the end of her parents' bed, clad in pyjamas and making demands. ‘No sparkles.’ She warned, pointing a finger at Elliot’s bassinet as she watched her mother through the open bathroom door.

Charlie bounced, her energy source unknown as Claire watched her messy curls accentuate their need for a brush with each downward motion of her daughter’s perky morning attitude. ‘Are you done micromanaging?’ Claire asked, fastening her earring as she levelled Charlie with a stern eye. The girl had given her a list of things her sister could  _not_  wear to school. Not too much pink, no ribbons, no bows, nothing shiny or dirty or black and especially  _no sparkles._

Grinning at her mother, who finally placed a good morning kiss on her cheek, Charlie bounced off the bed and disappeared from the room. When Claire saw her again she was ready for school. Gone were the sleep shorts and Elmo tee, the knotty hair and unruly waves. Owen worked a magic on that girl that Claire would never understand let alone know.

‘Daddy is taking you to school today,’ Claire informed the girl as Owen scrapped his knife across a half black piece of toast beside her, Charlie watching with a quirk in her brow, lip curled.

‘Can I go home after my show-and-tell?’ She asked, catching both of her parents off guard. They had to give the five-year-old some credit, she knew how to play them but she would be seeing the school day to the end. Charlie pouted. ‘You gotta get a visitors badge from Mrs Chambers at the office, don’t forget.’ Charlie schooled, nibbling on her own, unburnt toast. Claire nodded, thanking her daughter for the reminder despite her already knowing the rules. ‘Will Ellie need one too?’ She asked, brow crinkling again as she grimaced at her father's food. Claire shook her head, Elliot wouldn’t need a visitors pass. ‘Can she have one though?’ The girl asked Claire who hummed noncommittally to the need for an infant to have a pass.

The second Owen finished his breakfast - wiping the crumbs from his hands and wiggling his eyebrows at the young girl -  they were out the door, Charlie’s bag dangling from the ends of Owen’s fingers.

‘Bye, bubba.’ Charlie ran from the door to the couch where Claire had settled, baby in her arms. Uncharacteristically, Charlie kissed the top of her sister’s head, before she did the same to her mother’s cheek and raced out the door.

[…]

Claire arrived promptly five minutes before the designated time her daughter had been repeating for a whole afternoon. She made herself known in the office, where women huddled around, cooing at the baby.

Claire was nervous. Elliot barely left the house since they brought her home. There were afternoons spent in the backyard and one or two trips to the supermarket. It had been two weeks but to Claire, their time out wasn’t enough. She was wary of behaviour, and external elements that could cause her child to act up again.

Charlie had been an easy baby. She was quiet and settled without fuss, rarely did she cause her mother or father an issue. Claire was more of a burden on her newborn than the child herself, withdrawn in postnatal depression that wrapped itself around her mind. Never was she out, alone, with the infant. Especially this early. Elliot was catching up on her second month out of her mother's womb, living in a world that wasn’t expecting her for another four weeks.

Charlie met her eagerly at the door of her classroom. ‘She’s wearing pink.’ The girl frowned, eyeing her sister’s soft pink quilted jacket with disappointment. There was no pleasing Charlie Grady, she would be up and down and left and right. There was only doing as you pleased and letting the girl deal with it. She moved on easily when her teacher called out, grabbing her attention and gathering the students on the rug.

Claire waited until her daughter was settled - rather cockily - in the teacher’s chair before she deposited Elliot into her lap and took a step back.

‘This is baby Elliot she’s mine.’ Charlie introduced, half watching the wrinkled face of her baby sister sceptically. ‘She’s not even ‘upposed to be born yet. But she just  _couldn’t_  wait.’ Claire chuckled listening to her eldest keep her class in awe. ‘She cries a lot and Mama and Daddy say shh, shh, shh.’ Her little hand tapped the rump of her sister like she had seen her parents do, pacing the length of the hospital nursery or in the hallway at home. ‘But she doesn’t always shush.’

She kept her audience captive, the baby in her lap staying in place without falling or being disturbed by her sister’s fidgeting. ‘I’ve had enough now.’ Charlie announced, eyes on her mother, her presentation over. Claire smiled sweetly at Charlie’s bored look, rising from her kindergarten sized chair to relieve Charlie of little Elliot.

Claire stayed with the class for an extra twenty minutes as each child came over to gawk at Elliot, most of them the youngest or only children in their household. They each touched her little fingers splayed at odd angles as a girl shrieked when Ellie moved.

When they were done, Claire kissed her eldest on the head and promised that her daddy would be there to pick her up once the bell rang. ‘Can’t I come home with you?’ She asked innocently, batting her eyelashes and big blue eyes. ‘Like a ‘pecial secret?’ Charlie was only in her first year of schooling and already Claire had enforced secret days where she collected Charlie from school early or kept her home altogether. They weren’t a secretly entirely, Owen knew but the glory of a secret was precious to their eldest.

Her mother caved, one look into ocean blues and she sighed. ‘Okay, go tell Miss Bridget.’ In a flash Charlie had run off, calling out to her teacher as she grabbed her bag and hooked it over her shoulders.

Elliot was tucked into the crook of Claire’s arm as they moved across the school grounds, Charlie holding her spare hand as she skipped beside her mother. ‘Thank you for bringing baby Ellie, Mama.’ The girl grinned, the tags on her bag jingling with every step.

Claire squeezed her daughters hand, praising her manners and poise. She was more than welcome when she behaved. Taking a deep breath, the sun on the back of her head Claire hummed. This was what it was supposed to be. The easy life. Sneaking her daughter out of school early, her new infant happy and healthy, realised from the confines of the hospital. This was what they were working towards, from day dot, the second she broke down and told Owen she was pregnant. This was the sweet holy promise land he told her about, Charlie’s sticky hand in hers, Elliot smacking her small lips.

‘I love her, Mama.’ Charlie whistled, letting go of Claire’s hand the second they reached the car. ‘But only a little bit.’ She squished two fingers together, thumb and forefinger almost touching as she peered through the minuscule gap.


	135. #135 - Thermostat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: “I swear to God if you touch the thermostat one more time” please and thank you :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't use the exact phrase, but close enough

 

Owen was hot blooded. Claire knew as much long before they had reached this point, she just refused to cater to it. There was no use why he - the hottest person in the house - had to have everything personally tailored to him. She would not go cold, purely because he ran hot. 

She thought she had managed to escape the surly heat of Costa Rica, trading it for a little less mild sun in San Diego. Winter set into their bones hard and long, Claire unable to find her warmth outside of their shared bed. He was a sauna at night, large mass of man in which she managed to wrap herself around or cocoon sweetly against his chest, his arm weighing her down. He was an unknown mass in the summer months, untouchable as his skin burned. 

This called for war in their modest apartment, a game of thermostat changing, Owen turning it off when he walked through the door, Claire turning it back on before dinner. They played like that for hours, Claire leaving it until the chill settled back in her bones despite the layers of socks and shirts she had buried herself under. 

It only made Owen livid. He couldn’t stand it when the head was up too much. They’d escaped the tropics, settling themselves in a warm costal city that would never stand to par with backbreaking work under the blistering sun. Winter was welcome to his sun kissed skin, cooling the burning embers of his flesh. And then there was Claire, a slight woman - who was finding her way back to bigger bones, leaving her diet behind with their careers as she focused on _living_ for a short while first. She was blue-blood, cold as ice no matter the temperature. 

Under the sun, she complained sparking confusion in Owen as to how she remained on that island so long. They’d all had their days in sweat drenched clothes listening to investors ask stupid questions as they dumped water over their heads and broke in shades they would never wear again. She squirmed, desperate for air in an open house, the windows cracked wide as a fan spun above their heads. In winter, Claire bunkered down. She tucked herself into the corner of the couch and layered herself with clothes and blankets. He was sure she would never get warm, her small body clinging to his in the depths of the night, desperate to morph into him, her body sliding into the layers of his skin.

‘Don’t do it,’ Claire hummed from her place on the couch, glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. Owen froze, he didn’t know how she saw him, her head had barely moved from the computer screen in front of her. ‘Don’t touch it.’ 

Owen grumbled, drinks in his had as he gave the thermostat one last look. It had gotten ridiculous, he was walking around the house in sleep sweats - sans shirt thanks to the ice-cold woman on the couch. ‘It’s boiling in here, Claire.’ He told her, setting their drinks on the coffee table. Owen didn’t sit, he just watched her a second mulling over an idea in his head. ‘This is getting ridiculous.’ 

Claire scoffed, ‘It’s no higher than twenty degrees, get over it.’ 

‘And what? Take off more clothes?’ He yanked at the elastic of his sweats threatening to take them off, not that Claire would protest. ‘It’s not the middle of summer.’

‘Well I’m sorry that we’re not all naturally warm as you are from absorbing the fucking sun.’ There would be no end to this, either she was too cold and he was too warm, both of which happened to make the other cranky and where Owen would gladly have begged at her mercy he was sick of loosing his clothes the second he came in the door - for entirely _un-fun_ reasons. 

Owen huffed, ‘Okay, enough’. He stepped away from the couch returning to the thermostat to turn it off before returning to Claire who was watching him with a pensive expression. He hated fighting with her - no, he loved it. Their relationship was built on the backbone of disagreement and jeering comments. He lived to rile her up. But this, fighting over the warmth of the house when she _clearly_ needed to see someone about why she ran so cold; was stupid. 

He scooped her up, blankets, body, laptop and all. Claire continued to pout as he carried her to their bedroom and buried her under an approximate six layers of blankets. ‘We have to make this work.’ He told her sternly mocking her pout as he kissed the tip of her nose. Be pulled away, on all fours, a limb on either side of her body to switch off the lights in the house. It was barely eight, way too early for bed but Owen had decided that they would retire for the night. Least they continue arguing about the heat until the bill arrives with a severe spike.

When he returned, Claire’s laptop was closed and sitting on the bedside table, her glasses there too. She looked like a small child under a mountain of blankets, snug and ready to snooze. ‘You know, I heard once that the best way to retain body heat is to curl up naked - with someone else.’ She grinned, barely suppressing a laugh as Owen pounced on the bed. 

‘Is that so, Miss Dearing?’ He grinned, kissing her softly as he clambered under the sheets, making quick work of his sweats as he did so. She hummed, laughing against his mouth a hand already curled in his hair. 

In the morning they would argue about the heat again, but for now they had it sorted out. 


	136. #136 - Winnie: A Sibling

He loved lazy Chicago afternoons. Although the city was vastly different from his bungalow on Isla Nublar and Costa Rica as a whole; Owen had adjusted. There was simple pleasure in watching the sun turn the sky tangerine through the kitchen window as he avoided the report he should have been typing up. Instead, he daydreamed, still living off the attention and good vibes Winnie had shrouded their house with that weekend. He let pleasant memory soak through him like the early evening sky while he awaited Claire’s arrival. 

He revelled in the moment she came home, closing his eyes as he picked up on every minute sound. They had been living together for three years, already he was convinced he would never get sick of the sound of that latch clicking shut after her heels stepped through the door. Her keys, jangling in her hand was the sweetest melody until they collided with the bowl that held them for safe keeping. 

Owen’s body hummed as he counted the steps she took before her hand graced his shoulder. She kissed his cheek with a pleasant hum as she dropped a stack of mail to the counter beside him. ‘How was work?’ Claire asked, flicking the switch on the kettle as she pulled out a sachet of peppermint tea. 

Owen mumbled, shrugging his shoulders as he watched her prepare her drink. It was the same old thing from day to day, nothing as exciting as nearly getting your arm bit off my a velociraptor. ‘Still nauseous?’ He asked, watching her with concern. She’d been off for a few days, the nausea driving them both insane. ‘Do you want me to go get some ginger?’ They, surprisingly, had none but Claire was happy to battle it with peppermint - too put out to go to the store on a Monday night and desperate to get rid of the tea bags she rarely used. Claire could hardly remember why she’d bought them in the first place. 

He riffled through the mail as he asked her about work, returning the question just as Claire had asked him a second time. Owen skimmed through bills, putting them to one side for Claire to deal with later. He stopped on a newsletter from Winnie’s school, reading the cover intensely before turning the page. 

Claire couldn’t help but watch him over her shoulder. He had always shown a great interest in Winnie’s schooling, even when it came down to the weekly newsletter that contained nothing of importance to the girl herself. Usually, she left him to flick through the mail returning up the stairs to change out of her clothes and into something more comfortable. This evening was different, she’d slipped an envelope into the pile, the anticipation rising in her gut adding to the nausea she was already feeling. 

He broke away from the newsletter to haphazardly tear open another bill, reading it for a minute before putting it to the side with the others. Claire’s envelope was next, Owen caught on a column about the swim carnival too tied up to focus. 

‘What’s this?’ He asked, sliding his finger under the lip of the unmarked envelope. He flipped it from front to back making sure he hadn’t missed a name or address. He knew then, that it was Claire’s, that she had slipped it in amongst the mail rather than the postman leaving it in the letter box. ‘Is everything okay?’ Owen watched her with concern, they’d only just taken Winnie back to Madison the morning before. Everything had been fine there. Andrew met them halfway, stopping to share a coffee in a truck stop cafe as an excuse for Winnie to stretch her legs and for Claire to recover from the bout of motion sickness that had taken over her. It helped with the drive, cutting it in half for both sides to just meet in the middle rather than a six hour round trip. 

It couldn’t have been Winnie. Owen knew the girl’s father all too well, Andrew would have given himself away had something been stirring between them.

Claire hummed as she blew on her tea, steam rising across her face. ‘Yeah, everything’s fine.’ She took a tentative sip as he leant over the counter, stuck on a new column as his thumb pried the envelope open. 

Everything else on the planet melted away when his eyes tore from the newsletter, focusing on the envelope that popped open. Claire couldn’t hear a thing, the world had dropped to a near dead hush as she stared at him, watching his face so innocently unaware as he pulled the glossy paper out. Her perception of time slowed, just as her hearing disappeared as she watched confusion wrinkle across his face and pull his lip down in a small pout as he studied the image in his hands. 

It was barely anything just grainy white, a dark patch with a small odd shaped lump at the bottom of it. His thumb stroked the corner of it, his eyes catching her name on the top left. ‘You’re pregnant?’ Owen asked quietly, hesitant as he tore himself away from the image to look at her. 

Half hiding behind her mug, Claire nodded, ‘Six weeks.’ 

His eyes fell back to the sonogram, mouth slightly agape as his spare hand tried to cover it. ‘I, ah … wow.’ Owen blinked, brain short circuiting. ‘Do you - Do you want to keep it?’ Claire had been vocal in the last four years of their relationship about her want to _not_ have anymore children. Winnie was enough. Half of the reason as to why she even existed was because her mother thought she might as well go through with it. The other, involved Claire’s fear of infertility, the dark cloud that loomed over her impossible head. And, although she missed time in her daughter’s early life, Claire was done with the prospect of babies. Owen, however, was desperate for one but in recent weeks had given up on dropping hints. 

He wasn’t going to force this baby on her if she didn’t want it. 

Claire put her mug down, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she watched the man try to will himself not to cry. God, they were happy tears but she knew he would not allow them to break loose until she had given the word. ‘I do.’ She hummed, grin forcing its way across her cheeks as Owen’s eyes lit up. ‘I didn’t think I did, but I do. I really want this baby.’ The joy burst from her with surprise her own eyes tearing up as Owen rounded the bench and wrapped her in his arms. Fisting her hands into his shirt, Claire sighed, a slight unexpected cry slipping from her. ’You’re going to be a dad.’ She whispered in his ear, her grip determined to never let go. 

Owen laughed, the sound high enough to reach the gods as he peppered her face with kisses. ‘I’m already a dad.’ He told her through tears of his own. Winnie wasn’t biologically his, nor was she legally but she was _his_ because the little girl decided it was so. And for all his begging about a baby, all his silly comments and thought through proposals Owen would have been happy if the only person who called him _dad_ was Winifred. 

He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands eagerly untucking her shirt from the skirt she wore just to reveal the curve of her stomach. ‘You are magic.’ He whispered, kissing her skin right above where he supposed their baby lay. ‘So, so, so, so magic. I don’t think I tell you that enough.’ He hummed, mussing to himself as he hugged her legs before kissing his way back up to her face. ‘A baby!’ He grinned at her, hands cradling her hips as he pecked her nose. 

Claire smiled through her tears, eyes fluttering closed at his soft affection. ‘It’s not even technically a baby yet. Just a bunch of cells the size of a pomegranate seed.’ She told him, smile still in place as she rolled her eyes, Owen’s thumb stroking the side of her abdomen. Regardless of the terminology, or the size. She was pregnant, their baby growing beneath her skin ready to wreak havoc on her body in the coming months. Hell, she was already being struck with morning sicknessthat was hitting her at all times of the day, leaving Claire exhausted, her appetite put off completely. 

‘Winnie is going to loose her mind.’ Owen chuckled. Claire shook her head, Winnie was going to be devastated. The child held a certain possession over the man that she was not willing to share with many others. Claire had to fight for a say when it came to Owen and Winnie played a dirty game. There would be no doubt that adding a second child to the mix would be the slightest hint of a disaster. ‘Give her a little credit,’ Owen mused. ‘She’ll be ecstatic!’ 

[…]

Winifred Grace Dearing did not take the news well. Ecstatic was the wrong word. She wasclose enough to distraught it made Owen’s heart ache. 

They left it until they had a school break with the girl, rather than handing her the news and forcing her to process it over the weekend before going home to her father and leaving Andrew to deal with it. By then, Claire was approaching her fifth month, easing into the idea of the pregnancy that was yet to grow on her in uncomfortable ways. The seven-year-old was quiet, her head turned to her lap as she sat beside her mother on the couch. 

‘But, Owen’s _my_ daddy.’ Winnie wobbled, her voice shaky as she refused to connect eyes with either her mother or Owen, perched on the coffee table in beside her. 

Claire nodded, one hand reaching for the little girl, the other reaching for Owen. ‘And Owen will _always_ be your daddy. He just gets to be a daddy to you _and_ this baby. He’s got so much love in his heart, don’t you think, Win?’ The girl shrugged, frown dragging the corners of her mouth down. 

‘But you won’t have enough love for me.’ She whimpered, the child tucking her chin to her chest as her fingers started to tug at the hem of her jumper. 

Owen was the first to move, Claire sitting beside the girl, mouth poised open unsure of what to say. He leant forward to scoop the small girl into his arms, pulling her onto his lap as he kissed the top of her head. Owen tried not to let her heavy breath hurt him, the girl holding back her tears. ‘I promise you, Winnie, I have enough love for you, this baby, and Ma.’ He squeezed her. ‘I promise.’ 

‘But, no more than that?’ Winnie asked, tilting her head to look up at him her blue eyes burning into his soul. Owen wasn’t going to lie that he would shift and expand for every child Claire would willingly bless him with. He was sure they’d have no more than this baby on the way but he wasn’t about ready to promise Win his heart could only encompass two kids. Instead, Owen kissed her head begging the girl stop worrying about it. He promised over and over, there would always be enough love to share. ‘Can Ma show you the pictures she has?’ He asked, encouraging a thoughtful response from the uneasy girl. 

When Winnie gave a steady nod, eyes on her mother Claire pulled out the prepared sonograms. She allowed the woman to explain slowly, showing the girl the most recent image. Owen tucked Win’s loose hair away from her face as she leant towards the sonogram her mother was holding. Claire easily explained what her daughter was seeing, the head of her baby brother or sister, their little body curved within her mother’s womb. 

Suddenly Win was mystified, climbing from Owen’s lap to sit beside her mother again. Claire peeled off her loose jumper when Winnie turned inquisitive, revealing the significant bump that had formed under her skin. The girl had barely noticed the change thanks to her mothers choice of attire but once the bulge was revealed to her there was no escaping it. 

Claire was convinced she was showing more than what she had her first pregnancy - something her doctor told her would likely happen but didn’t mean she was prepared for it at all. She was certain, without a doubt, that she barely surpassed her current size by the end of her pregnancy with Win. Both Owen and her doctor jibed that she was carrying multiples yet to reveal themselves much to Claire’s dismay. There was one baby in there, they had seen it enough times to know. The jokes were not as funny as her partner liked to think they were. 

‘The baby is about the size of a pear right now.’ Claire told her daughter, as Winnie chimed that she liked pears. She curled against her mother’s side, letting the woman play with her hair as she watched the bump that wasn’t there the last time she checked. ‘We’re going to find out if it’s a boy or girl next week.’ She told the girl, watching her daughter’s face as Winnie reached a hand out for the curve of her mother’s belly. ‘Would you like to come?’ 

Winnie nodded, ‘Only if I get a sister’. Both adults laughed, reminding the girl that they couldn’t exactly pick the gender. It would be a surprise the doctor would tell them. Win frowned softly, biting on her bottom lip as she thought. ‘It’s going to be a sister.’ She told them finally, unprepared for what the appointment would bring - the exact opposite of her wishes waving at her from the hospital monitor. 


	137. #137 - Charlie and Granddad's Sauce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a prompt. A snippet of Charlie Grady on a Sunday afternoon with her Granddad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As most of you would know by now, I lost my granddad (Opa, Pa, ‘Grumpy’) two weeks ago. I’ve been trying to wrack my brain for good memories I shared with the man of very few words; whose personality I share more than I think either of us realised. 
> 
> More often than not, I was found peeling onions, or dropping boiled tomatoes into ice-cold water, watching as their skin slipped off. I was official ‘lid checker’ making sure bottles had sealed before he put his sauce in the back of the car and delivered it to friends. I thought of Charlie doing something similar and in order to deal with my overwhelming grief wrote this in the car on the way home from the funeral.

The weather had spiked a good number of degrees coming into the beginning of April. What usually remained as a cooler chill, not warm enough for their usual beach activities, but soliciting some of the first _dry_ park play for the year. 

Claire almost felt guilty for packing her daughter up and sending her to her grandparents with warm clothes after school finished on Friday afternoon. Despite her in-laws having a whole second closet for her daughter, the slightest of voices went off in the back of her head for not checking the weather report before sending her child five blocks away. 

The weekend was theirs, or so Owen kept trying to remind his wife kissing her cheeks as his hands wandered. She bowed under the touch of his callous fingers on the swell of her stomach, their second daughter sitting comfortably under her mother’s skin. Claire’s thoughts didn’t move from Charlie, worried that the little girl would run too hot in the thick clothes she had sent her with. There was nothing but pants in that bag, long sleeved shirts and extra thick socks. She would melt and only her mother was to blame. 

She didn’t dare call her mother-in-law. Heather, just as loving and kind as her own mother had been, would only chuckle down the line. Claire knew Charlie was fine, it was all useless worry seeped into her bones a little too late thanks to the life sustaining itself within her. 

Regardless, Claire was relieved when the weekend was over, Sunday afternoon greeting them with brilliant warmth as the sun kissed their cheeks. Not usually a warm weathered person, Claire wanted to bask in the sunlight, happy to fall asleep there and allowing her skin to freckle. 

Owen didn’t knock when he approached his parents’ home, the door was unlocked, as it always seemed to be. His mother greeted them warmly, hugging them both as she kissed their cheeks. Heather’s hand found the curve of Claire’s slight bump. Seven months pregnant, and most swore she was only on the mid fifth month mark. Where Claire had bloated with Charlie, growing out and round, her second pregnancy was kinder to her figure, staying slight, albeit still round. 

Their usual Sunday night shared family dinner was already sitting out in it’s paired back ingredients on the counter ready to be diced and seasoned. There - much to Claire’s enjoyment - was a lemon tart on the counter. It had been one of her more peculiar cravings, stuck deep in the back of her thoughts since Claire found out she was pregnant. It didn’t matter how many lemon byproducts own bought to her, Claire had not managed to lose the craving. 

She passed right by the kitchen, not giving the dessert another thought as Mary pressed a glass of lemonade into her hand instead. Charlie, her grandmother promised, was in the yard with her granddad. 

It was unsurprising that the girl was sat with Henry in the yard, each of them in a chair, several bags of onions between them. ‘Oh, Charlie, seriously?’ Claire sighed, eyes locking on the girl in nothing but her Finding Dory underwear in the warm sun. 

The girl whipped her head around, red hair flying about her face as she grinned. ‘We’re makin’ sauce, Mama!’ She shrieked, onion in hand, pride on her face as her mother bent to kiss her cheek in greeting. 

‘Don’t you worry about her, Claire, she’s got sunscreen on.’ Henry rose from his seat to embrace his daughter-in-law, a kiss on her cheek. ‘She didn’t wanna wear the dress Heather pulled out for her.’Of course she didn’t, Claire could count the number of times Charlie had worn a dress on one hand. Claire rolled her eyes at the impossibility of her child, as the girl went back to peeling the vegetable. She would freckle regardless of the cream, the tops of her cheeks were already pink in the heat. But, she was smiling, laughing with her granddad about something before Claire came out. It was all for the memories. 

With a little effort, Claire lowered herself into a spare chair beside Henry. Charlie appeared in front of her, pulling on her mother’s glass as she took a sip despite their being a drink bottle on the seat of her now vacated chair. ‘Granddad says if you eat any more lemons that baby is gonna be a lemon!’ Smacking her lips, the four-year-old giggled. 

Henry shook his head, chuckling beside the girl as he went back to his task. It was nothing new, Henry had said it jokingly to her face more than once, teasing lightly and lovingly. Claire sighed, slouching in her chair as a hand rested on her bump. 

‘Still goin’ on Tuesday?’ He asked, enquiring into the work drama Claire was desperate to ignore. They wanted her in New York for a few days to lead a global conference. Claire didn’t want to go. She was seven months pregnant, and nowhere interested in cramming herself onto a flight and the other side of the country. When Claire turned her superiors down, they turned on her. Never one to be put out of place in a male dominated environment Claire was forcing herself on the business trip. Her doctor had cleared her to fly, her daughter wasn’t due for another two months, there was no harm other than breeching the comfort zone Claire found in the habits of her home at every opportunity. 

Claire hummed, nodding her head softly. Charlie climbed into her grandfather’s lap, resuming her onion peeling task there as he did the same around her. Claire couldn’t help her smile. Charlie loved her granddad as much as she loved her father, if not a little more. Henry adored Charlie just as much, treasuring the girl at every opportunity. They were two peas in a pod, the most accurate description Claire could come up with. Charlie was happy to follow Henry wherever he was willing to lead, the man happy to have a child at his heels again. ’You know, we can watch Charlie if you want Owen to go with you.’ Henry offered, knowing the issues they were having because of it. Owen didn’t want her to go. Claire had come to terms with the idea, but her husband was hesitant to agree. 

She shook her head, ‘As much as he would love the idea, Owen can’t take the time off. We need it for when the baby comes.’ Claire shrugged, ‘It’s only two days, it’ll be over before we all know it.’ She knew they were there if it was needed, it was the whole reason behind why Owen’s parents picked up their lives and moved to a new city. They were there for their granddaughter if she needed them. ‘Sorry, no extra labour this time.’ Claire chuckled, knowing Charlie would likely spend the two days out there making Henry’s sauce rather than attending kindergarten. Claire didn’t have a problem with it, Charlie spent most of her summers with Henry peeling onions and measuring ingredients. The girl smelt like tomatoes more often than not, which was was oddly worse than the usual dirt smell she wore. 

‘Ah, we’ll have ‘er anyway.’ Henry joked, laughing alongside his daughter-in-law. There was no doubt that Heather and Henry would take Charlie off Owen’s hands while he was working, resorting to leaving her with them rather than the kindergarten program they had already paid for. 

Without a word, Charlie handed an onion to her mother, watching with an expectant look. Henry laughed, clicking his tongue as Claire took the vegetable and started peeling. She knew her job. Usually, or at least until Charlie was old enough to help, Henry sat outside and prepped his bottles of tomato preserve on his own. She sat with him once, during a family gathering when she was pregnant with Charlie, her thoughts still internalised as Henry provided quiet company. Even then, Henry wouldn’t let her help. Instead, he probed her with steady questions, asking if she was going to take his grandchild and run away, or if she would let Owen — no matter what — have access to his flesh and blood. Claire didn’t know the answers for sure then, but she answered him anyway promising the baby in her belly would always be involved in their lives, no matter what. Henry had hummed, nodding his head as he watched his fingers peel back the onion skin before discarding it into the awaiting bag. 

‘I hope you’re payin’ ‘em, Dad.’ Owen’s voice sounded behind them, his warmth appearing behind Claire as his laughter rung in their ears. 

‘That’s what dinner is for, right?’ Henry joked, Charlie pushing off his lap with urgent need. She rushed her father’s legs, colliding with his knees as she tried to climb him. Owen picked her up with ease, kissing his daughter’s cheek as he asked her about her weekend. 

Charlie filled him in quickly, making a list of the things she had done since Friday afternoon, including every meal, snack and drink she managed to consume. Majority of that time was spent with granddad prepping his batches of homemade sauce. ‘Next time you say; granddad, put it in my college fund.’ Charlie giggled, shaking her head against his shoulder. Owen was fifteen when his dad started making tomato sauce. It was a few bottles at first, using up excess tomatoes a neighbour had dropped on their doorstep, before it became about supplying friends and family. Henry was just about supplying their whole neighbourhood not only in San Diego, but Washington State. Owen didn’t know why the man didn’t commercialise his recipe, god knows there were enough retired friends of his that would happily work along side him had Henry not wanted to hire staff. It was a hobby, his father argued, something to keep him busy, not to see it’s face on supermarket shelves. 

‘We gonna cook it tomorrow!’ Charlie announced, Owen turning the conversation to his father’s progress, child still in his arms, spare hand rubbing at his wife’s shoulder. 

Owen chuckled, ‘You’re at kinder tomorrow’. 

Charlie shook her head. ‘No.’ She pouted, the lines on her face deep. ‘I gotta help granddad.’ Owen turned to Claire instead of arguing with the girl, looking for an expression on his wife’s face. They paid per class they booked Charlie into, regardless of if the girl was sick or they had someone else to watch her. If she spent the day with her grandparents, they would lose money. ‘Please —‘ Charlie whined, dragging out the sound. 

Claire sighed, shoulders falling as she looked between her doe eyed daughter and nonplussed but secretly hopeful father-in-law. ‘You better sell enough sauce to pay your kinder fees.’ Claire warned, smiling as her daughter registered what she was saying. ‘ _And_ you need to wear clothes … and a hat if you’re outside.’ 

‘Can I sleep over?’ Charlie asked, grinning. 

Claire shook her head, ‘Now you’re pushing it’. She knew, before the night was over, dessert freshly served that her daughter would have talked her way into spending a third night, or she would fall asleep on the couch where Claire wouldn’t want to move her. It _would_ save them time in the morning. 

Charlie wiggled from her father’s grip. ‘I gots work to do,’ She announced, climbing back onto her granddad’s lap, where he immediately handed her one of the last onions in the bag. The man kissed his granddaughter on the head as the girl sighed, happily peeling onions in her grandfather’s lap. ‘I want to stay here forever.’ Charlie told them nonchalant, barely looking up from the object in her hands. 

Owen scoffed, at the rate she behaved, running on continuous energy and tearing her sleep deprived parents to the ground; Charlie could move in with her grandparents. Her visits were frequent, their Sunday dinner’s every week as well as a Tuesday afternoon play and every third weekend. Charlie would happily spend everyday there, helping her granddad with odd jobs in the garden, or on the warmest days; preparing his sauce. She had her jobs, the things they reserved especially for Charlie, no one else taking that spot until the girl herself was there to fill it. 

Henry chuckled, squeezing his arms around the girl. ‘I think your mom and dad would miss you,’ He told her, Charlie only shaking her head. Claire held her breath for a comment about the baby, waiting for her daughter to spit something out along the lines of, they didn’t need her because they were getting a new one. Charlie held her tongue. 

Claire let the thought drop, phone in her hands as she snapped a picture of her daughter and Henry. It was moments like that Claire treasured, her daughter making memories rather than a mess. All they wanted was Charlie happy and healthy, completely comfortable in the skin she wore. They could lose money on kindergarten fees if it meant she was spending time with family. 

‘Bath time, Charlie!’ Heather called from the back door, beckoning the girl inside. Charlie shook her head, the word _no_ falling from her smirking lips as she clung to her granddad. ‘Charlie Mae, don’t you dare fight me on this.’ Charlie relented in a second, catching the eye of her observant parents. She slid from Henry’s lap, running indoors as her parents followed. They each had their routine, Claire to bath Charlie, Owen to help in the kitchen whilst Henry did whatever it was that managed to get him out of any particular task. 

Claire had worried about her daughter being too hot in the company of her grandparents while the weather over the weekend warmed. It was a ridiculous worry, the time better spent focusing on the man who was trying to lather her in affection. There was nothing to worry about, Charlie was and always would be safe and comfortable in their care. Be it rugged up snow play, or stripped to her underwear onion peeling; the girl was content, happy to be in the company of others who adored her just as much as she adored them. 


	138. #138 - Not in My Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This started as an idea of mine that several others got behind.
> 
> Park Ranger Claire!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just an excuse for them to have sex outdoors. There is no substantial plot. Sorry.

They were having a bad year. 

Visitor percentages were up but so was litter. Overall respect for her parkland had declined; people were out getting back in touch with nature but didn’t give a rats ass about where they left their organic muesli bar wrappers. 

Claire Dearing had been a national park ranger practically since she was five. In the school breaks, when her family had the time, they would spend entire weeks out in woodlands, trekking trails and spotting wildlife. It was where Claire felt her most at home, surrounded by tall trees older than her by a century. 

It was an honour to don the green of her uniform, badge in place, even if it meant working Interpretive rather than Protective. Claire preferred the ins and outs of rescue missions to working in information centres, idly spending her days on tours and watching lazy campers not bothered with finding a trashcan. Her job was to keep the information centre running smoothly, the recreation areas clean, and all visitors behaving appropriately. It wasn’t the hardest task to be handed.

Whether she was issuing warnings, or trekking for lost campers; Claire was having the time of her life. So long as she was out in the wilderness, living amongst the flora and fauna as nature half intended it to be, Claire was happy. She wanted to work her way up the scale, until she had a piece of forest that was hers to protect alone. Her environmental law degree didn’t get her far amongst the trees, but Claire had it under her belt for stunting unsuspecting tourists with little respect for her great nation’s wilderness. Her place was on the ground, not in a court room, doing what she could wearing ranger green while others in her graduating year fought the legal battle. 

Claire had been transferred to Yosemite a month ago, and nothing was going to stop her from making the most of it. There was a quota she was determined to fill, keeping the park clean and her visitors satisfied. Within the year, she was determined to have climbed the ranks. 

The weather had been splendid, warm sunny days just in time for school break, attracting their peak amount of visitors. It wasn’t her favourite time of year, but certainly one that put a skip in her step as Claire went about her duties. 

The senior ranger tasked her with greeting campers, checking in that everyone was up to code and well aware of the usual restrictions. They were having a dry year, all it took was one misinformed camper to set fire to beloved forestry. 

There was joy in introducing herself to the new camping season, in a location she hadn’t frequented before. Campers tended to be stubborn, especially those who owned private cabins. They thought they owned the place, allowed to do as they please with the environment she swore to protect. 

Foliage crunched under her feet as Claire revelled in the change of pace, pulled away from her tours in order to check in with campers. She inhaled deeply, setting her shoulders as she pushed uphill. There were cabin owners in the area who owned substantial property, large holiday homes fit for a dozen people; and then there were those who owned the more traditional type of cabin.

She was headed for one of the smaller types, the structure simply built by the side of a small lake. There wasn’t much to fish there, and without a licence a hearty fine was due to be issued out. The resident had signed in according to the sheet Jonah gave her before shooing Claire off on her task. _Owen Grady_. Camping on his own, signed in late the night before. 

Claire stopped at the peak of the hill beside a burgundy truck as she tried to catch what little of her breath she lost on the steep climb. Pushing herself up on her toes in a childlike attempt to see further around the property she sought out the man who should have been there. He wasn’t hard to spot. Claire caught sight of his dusty brown hair, perched at the banks of the lake. Beside his basic folding chair sat an esky, bottles of beer already tumbling out of it, the man lounging with a fishing rod in hand. 

‘Hey there!’ Claire called out jovially, alerting the man of her presence before she started to approach. Claire waved a hand over her head, pulling her hat off as the man turned towards her. ‘I hope you have a permit to do that.’ She pointed her hand at the rod, nodding a small greeting.

‘Yeah, I got one.’ He didn’t move to get it, instead, stood only to size her up. Most people asked who she was, he didn’t. It wasn’t too hard to guess who she was, the moss green of her uniform, the straight edges of her hat, and the crest that sat proudly on her chest. 

She hummed, waiting a beat to see if he would move. ‘Can I see it, please?’ There was no way Claire was going to lose her job because she didn’t check his permit. Claire had no doubt he had one, that it was up to date and issued correctly. He looked like the kind of living being that had things in order. His shoulders were broad, thighs too — not that she would admit to noticing — eyes tired and warn belonging to a man who desperately needed this week away. 

Slowly, he pushed past her, heavy breath falling from his lips as he sighed. He invaded her personal space as he moved for his truck, pulling the door open and reaching inside. Claire bristled, readjusting her shoulders as she raised a hand to brush over the braided up-do she kept. 

Without a word Owen Grady handed her his fishing permit. She took her time in reading it, soaking in the details as she looked towards his fishing gear. Claire nodded, satisfied as she handed the permit back. ’You’ll need to be mindful of the mess you make, too, Mr. Grady. Bears like to wander down in these parts when they can smell food.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, Ranger. I’m workin’ on it. Only been out here a few hours and you’re bustin’ my ass.’ He grumbled mostly to himself, words loud enough for Claire to hear. She didn’t need to think about it to know that’s what he wanted. He was trying to push her buttons, right off the bat, smirking at her with chiselled dimples and deep green eyes. Owen Grady was going to tear her to the ground.

It took a little too much to smile, Claire biting her cheek. ‘Well, good.’ She nodded promising there would be routine checks as they were up for survey in a couple of days. No camper was going to drag her scores down. She wasn’t kidding about the bears either, they were relatively harmless, if no one threatened them. But, they liked to keep them away from people as much as possible. ‘The name’s Claire,’ She introduced softly, a little too much excitement in her voice. ‘If you need anything there’s always someone on duty at the creek campground. You should have the emergency numbers too, do you have those?’ She felt like an idiot, and like she drank something with too many bubbles. Claire considered herself as fun, but not peppy, and the way Mr Grady was looking at her now suggested she was coming off like an eager graduated senior on spring break. She was twenty-five, not eighteen - there had to be a level of calm within her somewhere and yet all Claire wanted was for the ground to swallow her whole. 

He already knew these things, and was well prepared by the humoured look on his face. He was standing there still listening, likely because he had no choice. ‘What happened to Joe?’ He asked, arms crossed over his chest, back leaning against his truck. Claire faltered. She didn’t know a Joe. ‘Damn shame, he didn’t bother me all summer. Even had a beer or two.’ Owen half nodded to himself, raising the bottle he had carried towards his truck when he went in search of his permit. 

Claire gaped at him, unsure how to respond. Her mouth moved before her mind could process. ‘I drink beer.’ She told him, tone offended as she turned her whole body towards him, stance strong as she thought about the uniform she wore and how inappropriate it would be to share a beer while on duty. Her fingers curled around the brim of her hat, mind not even focused on bending the fabric she put tireless hours into keeping straight. 

Owen scoffed, throwing his head back as he downed the rest of the bottle. ‘No offence, Ranger. You don’t look like the sort.’ His eyes travelled her form slowly, before flicking towards her face. He was lying of course, she wasn’t any prissy girly-girl who only drunk pink concoctions that were sixty per cent liqueur. Claire Dearing drank beer with the best of them, in fact - and this was a detail she was not willing to give to the man before her - she was reigning beer pong champion of her residence accommodation three years running. She spent the better part of her weekends sitting in breweries with her father across the coast, trying new things and sighing about life’s dreams. 

‘Keep your camp tidy, Mr. Grady.’ She told him sharply, turning her attention away as she headed back down the steep hill.

Claire rolled her eyes to herself as she walked away, shaking her head softly at the impossibility of the man. ‘Hey, Ranger, wanna join me sometime?’ He called out to her barely after a beat. Claire couldn’t help the biting smile on her cheeks as she turned back to him. 

‘I’m on duty.’ She told him bluntly, dismissing the way his question was phrased for _later_ and not _now._

Owen shrugged, ‘Maybe later then?’ He chuckled, grinning at her. Claire could have sworn he so much as managed a wink, his eyes on her ass until she reached the bottom of the slope. 

[…]

It wasn’t until later came, Claire’s duties over as she passed through the privately owned cabins once more, that she saw Owen’s fire roaring. Something flared within Claire - likely her competitive streak - pushing her up his driveway to knock against his car. 

Owen turned to look at her slowly as if he had expected her to show up any minute now. He extended an arm, beer in hand as he nodded to the camping chair beside him. ‘Off duty?’ He asked with a gruff, voice low and rough like gravel. Claire nodded, accepting the beer and seat as she draped her jacket over her lap. ‘To be honest, I didn’t actually think you would take me up on the offer.’ Owen chuckled, watching her in the dying light, close enough that Claire felt insecure. 

‘But you were prepared?’ She nodded to the drink in her hand and the seat under he legs. Owen didn’t strike her as the social type. Maybe that was what drew her to him, that he seemed alone — and that he liked it that way. She wanted to pick her way through his bones to see how he worked, how he lived like that, owning a large space of land in the park but only a tiny little bungalow where others had whole fortresses. He grumbled a little too much, his responses scoffs. There was something else about him and she had to figure it out. 

‘I’m always prepared.’ He threw her a wink before tossing back his head and finishing whatever was left in the bottle he held. In truth, Owen Grady was prepared for a lot more than Claire stopping in for a beer after work. Would the evening so take them elsewhere he would not be caught unaware. 

She hummed, nodding slowly, her eyes caught in the burning fire, mind checking that it was within regulations. They had to cut down this year, played precaution to the dry heat and how easily it loved to burn things down. Owen had every permit under the sun, Claire’s superior told her to leave him be. So she did, not without an after hours check in. ‘What brings you to Yosemite?’ Claire pried, twisting the cap off her bottle with a satisfying hiss. 

Owen shrugged, ‘I’ve been coming out ‘ere since I was a kid’. Claire already knew that, he seemed to be quite the local, the property under his name, but before that; his fathers. So what if she had done some snooping? It just wasn’t enough without a verbal interview. ‘Just got back from border patrol. Needed an escape.’ He shrugged, voice quiet as he added new words after the memory. ‘What about you?’ 

‘I work here.’ Owen rolled his eyes at her response, opening his mouth to encourage a better answer. ‘I belong here.’ Claire offered a shrug, ‘It’s better than being locked in an office watching pencil pushers wait for death.’ Her father was a business man, stuck in an office job he didn’t want. He had two daughters and a wife to provide for, which wasn’t exactly the criteria fit for a thrill seeker desperate to live within the pits of the woods. Instead, he took to something he loathed to ensure his daughters were raised well and that they would never want for a single thing they couldn’t have. Claire felt like it was her responsibility to do the things her father loved, to drench herself in the belly of the country’s national parks, until she could see the memory of him grinning in her head. 

He had been so proud when she set out on this path, excited and relieved that his youngest child wouldn’t deprive herself of something she loved. Better yet, Michael Dearing was thankful that he had not managed to force the wilderness on his daughter, dragging her out on camping vacations she might not have wanted to go on. Claire loved their weekends away, be them in the big parks or something closer to home. There had been nothing better than sleeping amongst the trees, stars twinkling under their heads. 

She belonged in the wilderness. Her father belonged out there too and where he had more choice in his generation; he still missed the opportunity. Claire would do it for him, so he never had to live with that regret. She belonged to the sun and stars, the bushes and the trees. She breathed birdcall and the whisper of leaves. This was better suited to her than the office of an environmental lawyer. 

Claire was warmed by the low burning fire, cold beer in her hand as she leant back in her chair. She felt, in that moment, that she could tell Owen everything, spill her secrets to the grumbling man who was kinder than he first appeared to be. There was a shadow behind his eyes, dark and mysterious as it loomed at the forefront of her thoughts. He mentioned border patrol, the military under his belt as a war flickered in his green eyes. Claire knew she couldn’t ask. All she had available to her was the bottle in her hand, sipping from it occasionally as the questions burnt in the back of her mind. 

‘Well, I’ll drink to that,’ Owen offered raising his bottle slightly as he tilted his head towards her. 

Claire couldn’t help but feel comfortable in his presence, which was odd seeing that he tried to push her buttons and did it so well. Instead, as the sun was setting, beers consumed between them, Owen asked her about the park; every in an out of it, every individual piece of categorised flora and fauna.It was the bears that interested him most, Claire feeding him the few stories she had from her current placement. Owen listened intensely, his eyes boring into hers as she spoke. 

A blush burnt its way across her cheeks thanks to his attention, Claire unused to undivided looks of admiration. He offered nothing of himself, and Claire didn’t ask. There was a story or too from his encounters with Yosemite in his youth but even they were as scarce as the real truths that sat shaded behind his eyes. 

She was happy to talk about park conservation and wildlife protection for as long as he had questions to keep her going. 

Claire didn’t know what was warming her cheeks so spectacularly; it could have been the fire, the beer, or Owen’s company. She didn’t want to think of how her eyes wandered, settling on the twitching lines of his fingers as Owen ran his thumb over the knuckle of his forefinger. Her tongue skated across her bottom lip involuntarily. It was a primal response to the thought of his fingers on her. With her mind in that place, Claire knew there was no going back. A smirk had rolled itself across Owen’s lips, his eyes watching her mouth as their conversation, deep seated in an encounter he’d once had, drifted off into silence. She was busted, plain as day, heat pooling in her belly at the slightest attraction Claire had found. 

He didn’t make a move, instead remained seated as he continued to nurse the beer in his hands. It wasn’t until Claire got up to leave, making her excuses, the sky dark over their heads that Owen encroached her personal space. Owen’s broad fingers slid past hers as he took the empty bottle she offered, sighing quietly as she got up.

Owen mumbled a few quiet words in response to her goodnight, Claire’s hands in the back pockets of her jeans. ‘You know,’ She stopped, eyes cast to the ground she could barely make out beyond the amber light of his dying fire. ‘I just don’t _get_ you.’ Claire breathed, teeth sinking into her lip as she sighed. 

Owen’s response was immediate. His lips were hot on her skin, sliding down the length of her neck as he shoved her against his truck. Claire gasped, breath falling from her mouth. The metal was cool under her body, trying to chill the low burning fire that had developed in her belly. 

His hands were strong, steady on her hips as his fingers dug into her flesh. His touch was needy, desperate, begging entrance to her body as his hips pushed against hers. Claire purred, succumbing to the feel as her body tingled, her fingers buried in his hair as she slid her nails across his scalp. Owen’s teeth nipped at her neck as his hands slipped under her shirt, fingers counting her rips. 

No time was wasted in sliding his grip under her bra, kisses pressed low on her sternum as Claire fought to keep her breath. She was panting already, chest rising and falling, flush crawling across her skin. Claire followed Owen’s movements, lifting her arms when he pushed her shirt up her chest, determined to get it over her head. He didn’t bother to wait until the fabric was removed before his lips found the top of her breasts draped in plain cotton. Owen sunk his teeth in deep, enough to leave a bruise, marking her as his until it faded. Despite being one who hated the pretence of being _claimed_ by another human being, Claire revelled in a hickey that would linger for days. The simple sight of it would keep her warm as the memory of Owen’s hands on her would haunt her thoughts. 

He was bowed at her belly, lips at the bottom of her ribs when she heard the zip on her jeans give way. Claire only shifted enough for Owen to peel the fabric from her thighs, their feet crunching in the dirt they stood on.

Claire moaned low in the back of her throat when Owen’s hand slid past her belly and into the front of her underpants. His fingers slipped between her folds, callous hands unfamiliar to her soft skin. He knew what he was doing instinctively, thumb flicking at her clit as a finger slipped inside of her. Claire’s breath stuttered, barely making it’s way out of her lungs in one exhale. Owen grinned against her shoulder, mouth working on a love bite against her neck. 

‘Inside?’ Owen asked, grunting against her freckled skin. Claire shook her head. Had it been any other situation - not that she made a habit of fornicating with park guests - Claire would have wanted to hurry into the nearest enclosed space. Owen made her wild. There was a thrill of being out in the open, his body guarding hers against his truck where any lost and weary adventurer was capable of stumbling upon them. 

His groan was strangled, teeth biting into her shoulder as he pulled his hand from her, thick fingers shoving her jeans down her legs, the denim pooling in the dirt around her ankles. It was animalistic the way he ground himself against her, hips bucking into hers, Claire in cotton panties, Owen in his cargo pants. She whimpered, her fingernails digging into Owen’s forearms, biting the flesh there. He fiddled with his belt, the sound of metal rattling in Claire’s ears before she heard his zipper pull. Warm fingers were back on her, a hand on her hip, index finger threaded through the band of her panties. 

Owen broke away for a split second, leaving her skin to the cold as he reached inside his truck only to return with a condom between his fingers. She felt his warmth instantly the second he returned, her fingers reaching for his skin as she slid a hand up his back. Owen ripped the foil open with his teeth, Claire’s slight fingers jumping down the muscles of his stomach before skating over the twitching bulge ready and waiting for her. She grinned, all teeth and curled lip, a look glinting in her eye enough to make Owen bend and kiss her as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He pressed the condom into her hands as he guided her fingers in pulling away his boxer briefs, cock springing free. He took her hand to his shaft, dragging her fingers along the thick length of it before pausing at the trip. On her own, Owen’s fingers still on her wrist but not controlling the movement, Claire rolled the condom down his length. She marvelled at his girth and overall size for a slow moment, mentally preparing herself as she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. 

It had been a while since Claire had been with anyone, let alone someone on Owen’s scale. It wasn’t about to surprise her if the whole ordeal stung just a little more than it should have; her body not used to being abused that way. 

Owen seemingly had enough when he pulled her hands away with a low growl. He took a hand to the waistline of her panties, tugging them down before hoisting her leg over his hip. Positioned right where he needed to be, Owen pushed into Claire roughly with a grunt. Claire sighed, gasp caught in the back of her throat as a swear fell from her lips. Owen was buried to the hilt. ‘Fuck,’ He grumbled, mumbling her sentiment as his body tensed against hers.

He didn’t give her time to adjust before his body stuttered, hips pulling back then slamming forward again. Their lips met in a teeth clashing kiss, lingering seconds too long before he buried his face in her neck. There was nothing special about the sex and nothing that made in personal. Instead, Claire focused on how he felt around her, her fingers pressed into his skin, his breath on her neck, his cock stretching her vaginal walls to what felt like their furthest limits. Owen’s thrusts were smooth, calculated, almost timed to a tee as his jean clad hips met hers over and over. 

At some point, her right leg joined the left locked around Owen’s hips, his hands on her ass holding her against his truck. The traction there wasn’t wonderful, but Claire could hardly think as he pushed in and out of her, grunting occasionally in her ear.

In the dark, Claire could just make out the tattoo on his forearm, eyes fixed on it until they rolled back in her head. It was a childish giggle that fell from her lips when he bowed his head to lavish her breasts, the stubble on his cheeks unexpected and humorous. Claire felt his lips smile before he took a nipple into his mouth, biting softly at the nub purely to hear her shriek in response. 

‘Touch yourself,’ Owen grunted around a mouthful of her breast, watching her through thick lashes. Claire delivered as expected, hand slipping from his back to the crevice between their bodies, her fingers finding her clit, making her breath short. He could feel the knuckles of her hand against his belly with every forward thrust as Claire started to swivel her hips in tandem. 

Their rhythm was hot, burning like the fire they had sat in front of, their bodies coated in sweat only to be chilled by the night air. Claire shivered, the result of a cool breeze dusting across the wet pink nipple Owen had abandoned in place of the other. She felt the buildup in the pit of her belly, a light fire as Owen pulled a hand from holding her up, to replace hers on her clit. The move was unexpected, his large hands a little too much as she bucked involuntarily. 

Claire purred at his touch, Owen skilled with his hands and his tongue as his thrusts became a little more erratic. There was a vein piercing through his skin on his forehead, ready to burst with the tension as Claire closed her eyes, fingers curling in his hair. 

Each breath was audible as a small pant, rising in pitch and pace with each passing second as Owen moved within her, his hips pounding against hers. Claire’s fingers clawed at his shoulders, breath high-pitched as she whimpered that she was on the edge, desperate to let her orgasm break. Owen was right there with her, his lips pressed desperately to hers, the both of them fighting for breath as he told her, her lip between his teeth, to let go. 

Euphoria rippled through her the second Owen commanded it, a cry breaking past Claire’s throat as her spine arched into his chest. Owen’s hands joined behind her back, keeping her there as he forced his final thrust, body spasming against hers as he grunted, forehead pressed to her chest. 

A beat passed between them. Their breaths mingled in the cold air, pants pushed from their lungs as their chests continued to rise and fall in desperate need of oxygen. ‘I - I should probably go.’ Claire was the first to speak, her fingers barely there on his waist as she tried to push him away softly. 

Owen nodded curtly as he bent at the knees to pull her jeans back up her legs. She whispered a soft thanks, preoccupied in looking for the shirt and bra she knew couldn’t be too far. Owen found them too, shaking the possible dirt from the fabric before he handed her clothing back. 

[…]

Her skin was still on fire by the time Claire sprawled across her bed. She could still feel him everywhere and all at once, her body practically humming even without his presence. Returning home, saw Claire under the head of her shower washing Yosemite and her interaction with Owen from her skin. It had hardly worked. He was still there, fingers digging into her hips, and mouth on her breast. 

With her arms crossed over her eyes, Claire scolded herself. How reckless was she for having sex with Owen, a practical stranger, in the open outdoors of a part she loved. Shame trickled down her spine, only to be chased back by the thrill that still tingled at the memory of him. Despite feeling as though she should be disappointed, Claire couldn’t help the smile that had pushed its way across her face. She was giddy with excitement, personal pride burning in her mind at the realisation that she had broken the dry spell in her sex life.

Owen had touched her in such a way that Claire felt compelled to put him on the highest pedestal she had. He was like nothing else, and that wasn’t her long absence talking. Never would she have let a stranger touch her like that, let alone fuck her against his truck. _She let him fuck her against his truck._ There was no possible way she could look at a burgundy Chevrolet Silverado the same again without thinking of the way it felt against her skin, as Owen bit down on her flesh. 

She huffed at herself, exhaling a breath as she begged her mind to shut off and for sleep to find her. Claire tossed and turned for what felt like eternity, unable to close her thoughts off as her body still hummed, Owen caught in her head. She needed to go back. She shouldn’t have rushed out as quickly as she did, desperate to get away for a millisecond just to think. No one had been that close to her for years, had touched her mind, body and soul in such a way that she still couldn’t shake it. 

With a sigh, she pulled herself from her bed, setting her feet on the ground before she reached for her coat. Claire counted herself as insane as she pushed her key into the ignition of her car. Her feet touched the ground tentatively, Claire stepping onto Owen’s property with caution as she scanned the place in the dark. 

‘Can I help you, Ranger?’ His voice sounded by the cabin, the door open slightly, a figure standing there in the dark. Claire’s heart skipped a beat, her mind telling her that maybe this was a bad idea. 

Claire hummed, her eyes on him as he stepped out of the cabin. ‘I don’t let people in easily.’ She told him quietly. ‘I mean, this probably isn’t anything but it’s the first time I’ve felt something for a long while. I shouldn’t have ran away the second I realised.’ 

Owen shrugged, ‘No one said you had to stay’. 

‘Can I come in?’ Claire asked, shivering in the summer pyjamas she was wearing. Owen watched her for a second, body trembling, light fabric following suit. He nodded softly, pushing the door open and motioning for her to step into the soft light. ‘I don’t make a habit out of having sex with strangers.’ Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleep top, pulling occasionally to unintentionally reveal a sliver of skin at her stomach. Owen’s eyes watched, almost begging her hands to do it again. They had fucked in the dark, barely able to see the details of the other as he manically sought his release. Owen missed the freckle on the curve of her stomach and dared to see it again. 

He wanted to tell her the same. That he didn’t sleep around. It would have been a lie and Owen didn’t really feel like lying to Claire, the woman standing in front of him dressed in baby blue, her braids loose around her head. She wore barely anything, just a t-shirt and shorts, not enough to fight off the chill, even in his cabin. Sure, Owen didn’t make a habit out of fucking the first woman he saw but there were nights when he would pick up girls in a bar during his leave. He certainly didn’t harass them at their jobs, or offer to share his beer and his heart didn’t clench at the sight of them in the early hours of the morning, standing unkept in his home away from home. 

‘You’re still shivering.’ He commented instead, reaching for a throw blanket he kept strewn across the back of his small couch. He wrapped it around her shoulders after instructing her to sit, crouched in front of her, once again invading her personal space. Claire blushed at the proximity, cheeks reddening as Owen felt his heart tug. His lips were on hers immediately, the woman accepting the kiss as she leant into him, his broad hands finding purchase on her thighs. Claire knew where it was headed the second she felt his fingers dig into her skin, grip sliding up her leg. ‘I think you might actually be good for me.’ Owen told her, pulling away to peck her nose as he took in every minute detail on her face, green eyes shimmering in the early morning, mysterious hurt replaced with glowing honesty. 

‘You think?’ She echoed, sitting in his small living space. 

Owen couldn’t remember a time where he was happy to sit and listen to another person talk. For once, his mind wasn’t clouded with the things he saw or the people who had died. Her voice was a cool balm on a severe burn, lulling away the pain to let clarity back in again. 

It wasn’t going to be the easiest thing they had encountered, but for the moment Owen hadn’t felt that good in years. He wasn’t about ready to let that go, not after she had reconsidered her literal bolt for the woods.


	139. #139 - Couples Voucher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> privatezombie1: Don't know if you're taking these friends or more sentences, but "You know this voucher only works for couples, right?” For clawen 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends or More? Sentence Starters: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/145494447129/friends-or-more-sentence-starters

He heard her quietly come through the door. There was three moods to Claire Dearing each of them expressed easily through the sound of her footfalls. Her step was heavy when she was mad, soles of her heels hitting the floorboards with a definite clack. The sound was softer on a good day, more often than not, the sound somewhat merry or considered average in Owen’s head. When Claire was upset, Owen barely heard her.

She ghosted past him, shoes still on her feet as Owen faintly heard her bag hit the kitchen counter. He didn’t move, remained lounged on the couch where he had been for the last thirty minutes, caught in a multi-player skirmish with his colleagues. She never liked to talk about it, not on the quiet days. Instead, he knew Claire would carry herself off to her room and lock the door until she felt well enough to reappear; usually by dinner. Owen wasn’t one to pry on the matters of Claire Dearing’s headspace. He crept into her room when her nightmares got too loud, but anything that came home from work with her was strictly hers. She didn’t want to burden him with it and he wasn’t going to push her. 

Owen heard her groan sometime after the rubber of the fridge door peeled itself open, Claire at the handle clearly unimpressed with the contents. It was only six o’clock, dinner had only begun to register in Owen’s mind, quickly filled with the idea of calling in a delivery order. 

Her bag rattled on the bench, leather on stone as she rummaged for something he couldn’t guess just from sound alone. The ruckus sounded like she was emptying her whole life onto the counter before she groaned in annoyance yet again. Owen conceded defeat in his game, setting the controller aside as he pulled himself from the cushions on the couch he had to fight Claire for. She wasn’t usually that vocal when disgruntled, especially if it was aimed at him - the woman usually levelled him with a raised brow and dead stare rather than grunts and groans. 

‘What’s up?’ Owen asked, all too casually, strolling into the kitchen to perch his hands on the counter. Claire _had_ emptied majority of the contents that lived inside her handbag, items spread across the stone like she was putting her life on display. 

Claire huffed, shoulders slumping as a slight pout worked its way across her lips. She was upset, Owen could see it in her tired eyes, the colour turning dove grey opposed to the shimmering hues of blue-green. 

‘Nothing,’ Claire shook her head, shooing him away as she tried to push everything back into her bag. 

Owen stopped her, ‘It’s not nothin’, Claire’.

She huffed, ceasing her movements to raise a reluctant eyebrow. A hand pushed itself across her forehead as she opened her mouth. ‘I just - I forgot to add ice-cream to your list and now we don’t have any.’ Owen shrugged, they could go buy ice-cream. Hell, he should have bought it anyway when he noticed the item wasn’t on her organised list. ‘Which was fine, you know. I had this voucher sitting in my handbag. But, I can’t find it now, can I?’ She grumbled at herself while Owen reached for her handbag unceremoniously tipping it upside down on the countertop. 

Claire, in all her intelligent glory had a knack for losing things that were right in front of her nose. It amused him how easily something would go missing only before she realised her glasses were on her head, her shoes by the door, or her keys were already in the ignition. For someone so well put together, Claire let the little things slip. Maybe just as much as she let his continuous pining pass right by her despite their sharing a roof over their heads. It was, in Claire’s opinion, a way to save money; their shared accomodation. There was no telling when Masrani Global would unfreeze her accounts nor InGen his. For the meantime, they shared everything they had, including the rent on a modest apartment just outside of San Diego’s city limits. 

Unsurprisingly, Owen found the voucher immediately, the paper almost glossy and soft pink. ‘You know this voucher only works for couples, right?’ He showed her, revealing the romantic theme that had been printed on it before allowing her to snatch it away to reveal the fine print. 

Claire groaned in irritation low in the back of her throat, head rolled back as she squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Of course,’ She sighed, scrunching it up in the palm of her hand. 

‘What? Doesn’t mean we can’t use it.’ Owen shrugged, unable to keep his eyes from the devastation on her face. Claire wanted ice-cream, and what she wanted he was more than willing to give. It would have been easier to drive to the supermarket, but that was a gourmet ice-cream voucher she had, one of those prissy places she adored, a secret spot for locals and tourists alike with high price-points and to-die-for concoctions. ‘I think I can pretend to be your boyfriend for twenty minutes in order to score a two-for-one special.’ 

She looked at him like he was a freak for the slightest second as if weighing her options. Her teeth buried themselves in her bottom lip, deep contemplation ticking behind her eyes before she nodded with a soft exhale, eyes fluttering closed briefly as if she was regretfully accepting. 

[…]

His arm was around her waist the second they stepped through the door, Owen’s body a little too close to hers as the smell of him invaded her senses. Claire didn’t know how they could live in the city and he still smelt like the woods, homely and warm in deep pine and fresh sandalwood. Her arm wound around his back, fingers digging into his shirt for grip as she felt herself become lightheaded. 

Owen’s grip only tightened. 

The store was busy for a Tuesday night, several people milling about the glass metalling tossing and turning over what they wanted to order. They kept their place in line, Claire not straying from his hold. They knew what they wanted, the same as they usually ordered. Something a little too uncharacteristic of Owen; like strawberry cheesecake and a dark chocolate salted caramel for Claire. Completely on point, or at least Owen thought so when he first discovered it was her favourite. 

She felt her heart skip a beat when Owen undeniably pressed a kiss to her temple, lips lingering seconds too long. Warmth trickled throughout her body, slowly catching fire at the tips of her fingers and toes. Claire wanted to ask why he did it, to pull her head back and look into his eyes. She couldn’t find the strength. Owen held her when the dark of night got too much, the roar of a dinosaur still echoing in her ears. He let her stretch her legs across his lap, movie playing across the TV screen. He hadn’t kissed her, not since she saved his life. Claire half wanted him too, still unsure in the back of her mind. Together they lived comfortably without romantic emotion, if they pulled a relationship into what they had they would likely be set to fall apart. 

‘What happened at work today?’ His voice was quiet in her ear, gently prying as his thumb stroked a line down the side of her ribs. Claire shook her head, she didn’t want to talk about it. Not in the cheery ice-cream parlour that didn’t need to know people still whispered her name and the destruction that came with it behind her back. 

‘Hey, you’re not the only one who likes strawberry.’ She half mocked, changing the topic with her voice on a whisper as the couple before them received their order. When Owen didn’t respond immediately with a laugh, Claire tilted her head to look at him. She couldn’t prepare herself for the gentle kiss he pressed to the corner of her mouth, faux laugh drifting from his lips before their skin collided. Instead, she embraced it, letting it stretch her lips into an easy smile as she blinked at him slowly. 

Claire waited until they had their ice-cream in hand, voucher accepted before she stepped away from Owen on the sidewalk to level him with a surprised question. She was sure the ice-cream in her hand could met thanks to her body temperature, her whole being _alive_ as his kissed burnt through her. 

‘What?’ Owen asked, voice already defensive. ‘They know us, Claire. I had to make it believable.’ He answered with a shrug, grin on his face as she only smiled back. ‘Wanna try some?’ He offered as they headed for the boardwalk, happy to stroll as she revelled in the sweet treat he allowed her after a horrible day. 

Claire hummed, eyeing off the ice-cream he ordered, always soft pink. Owen practically moaned, as he always did, melting treat of dairy and sugar, laced with strawberries meeting his tongue. She usually shook her head when he offered, denying any interest in a flavour Claire had considered unadventurous. This time, she took him up on the offer, holding his arm steady in fear that his ice-cream would collide with her face in an attempt to make himself laugh. Instead of moving for the cone in his hand, Claire changed course. She kissed him hard, lips sliding against his as Owen responded instantly, pushing back with similar force. 

Her heart skipped another beat, tongue pushing its way past his lips as she hummed, Owen’s free hand finding her neck. They broke away when air became necessary, breaths panting as Claire grinned. ‘Still not as good as mine,’ She teased, smile brilliant in the setting sun. Claire turned back to her ice-cream, Owen chasing her mouth for another kiss, lips landing on her cheek. She giggled when his nose nuzzled at her ear, begging to taste as she had done, Claire withholding on a successful laugh. 

‘Oh you’re in trouble.’ He dropped his voice, tone still humoured as Claire couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. 

She raised an eyebrow, ready to dare, ’Prove it’. Owen caught her, one handed, his kiss crashing against her mouth, the taste of strawberries mixing with dark chocolate causing him to moan at the slight squeak of surprise she let out. He chuckled against her lips, playfully joining in on the fight she put up, promising between kisses, that he would prove it when they got home. 


	140. #140 - Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: “I kissed you because I didn’t know what else to do”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from Friends or More? Sentence Starters.  
> https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/145494447129/friends-or-more-sentence-starters

The arches of her feet were still aching, phantom feeling of the chase still tingling through her muscles. Claire stretched her legs out in front of her, perched on the end of the hotel bed as she flexed her toes. It didn’t help to ease the pain, nor keep away the grimace that curled its way across her face.

The bathroom door clicked open, steam rolling out behind the wall of man who stepped out in nothing but a towel. Claire diverted her eyes, turning them towards the sliding doors that promised a slight balcony and beach views. It was a little too much _vacation_ and not enough _we just survived a nightmare_. Her tongue moistened her lips as she stole a glance back towards Owen, the man nearly bent in half as he shuffled through the clothes that had been sent up for them. She almost didn’t want him to get dressed. The glimpse of his chest was slight, but it was enough to burn her cheeks red, the image sure to not leave her for a little while. Claire would treasure it while it lasted, just like their spur of the moment kiss.

‘Why _did_ you kiss me?’ Claire asked without realising, the thought slipping right past her lips before she could even register that it was there. She bit her tongue, closing her eyes briefly as she internally scolded herself. 

Owen froze only a few feet away from her, water sliding down the defined muscles of his back. She watched his shoulders twitch as she held her tongue, mind scrambling to find an excuse that could take her question back. There wasn’t one, other than relentless back tracking. It was there, out in the world, ringing in their ears. Owen may as well answer it before she posed it again in a day or two. 

They were both exhausted, final events of Jurassic World’s spectacular destruction weighing down on their shoulders as their bodies ached and their eyes drooped. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep for a decade, despite the fact that there was two of them and one bed. 

‘Is it terrible if I say; _because I wanted to_?’ Owen asked, already cringing as he turned to face her, hips perched on the small table behind him. Claire nodded softly, giving him the same look she had earlier the previous morning when he suggested _consulting_ in his bungalow.

Owen was cocky. She knew that much before he managed to wink at her the first time they met, standing before the structure that would eventually house his Velociraptors. Talk spread fast across the island, especially when it concerned newcomers. When those newcomers made a habit of flirting with both staff and guests; news was practical wildfire. She detested his existence before he even had a face in her mind. Owen Grady kept to himself, but his sexual conquests were all too happy to share lurid details - those who happened to work on Isla Nublar. He learnt that lesson quick, a slap to the wrist handed out by someone in OH&S and thankfully not Claire. 

He liked to flirt, tease, and bat his eyelashes at any girl who so much as giggled in his direction. Owen had been careful though, not to cross the sexual harassment line, although Claire was certain he got close enough. 

She had been surprised when he chalked up the courage to ask her on a date, more shocked that she said yes than anything else. Owen was handsome, tall and lean; she was only human. Claire was certain, going into their date that it wouldn’t work. Dinner and maybe a messy fuck against the wall of his bungalow before they returned to their usual irritated status with the other. She set herself up to fail, coming across as prissy and demanding; set to a schedule and completely uninterested in alcohol. The diet thing was true, the rest was a red herring to put him off her trail. Claire didn’t know what she would do if people knew she actually liked Owen Grady. Could she see herself with him long term? Likely not, but it would be a fun ride none the less - although not one enough to potentially damage her career once their relationship went south. 

Claire put too much time and effort into her job to have its importance be overshadowed by Owen. All people would see would be the woman who dumped Owen Grady, not their boss who was completely capable of firing them all. 

She couldn’t help but like him. Owen was loyal, dominant and protective. He was smart as hell, sexy too, and knew exactly how to push her buttons. They could spar for hours uninterrupted and frankly, it had been a long time since she had met someone like that. The flirtatious thing was something she was sure would dissipate once committed, the man single now but once in a relationship; all other doors closed. For Owen, it was just sex. 

‘It was relief,’ He started again, eyes drawn to a spot beside her shoulder rather than focusing on her face. Claire wouldn’t want to look either, she couldn’t raise her head to the bathroom mirror, only catching the faintest vision of herself in the shower glass. ‘Had you not stepped in, that Dimorphodon would have had my head for lunch. All I could think was that I would have died and there you were, steppin’ up to the plate and kickin’ absolute ass.’ Owen chuckled, grin on his face slight, mind caught in two places. ‘You helped me up like some jurassic warrior princess and I was struck like some goddamned love sick puppy.’ He sighed, hand scratching the back of his head, missing the way Claire’s eyes wandered the rippling muscles on his chest. ‘I kissed you because I didn’t know what else to do.’ 

Claire knew for certain that had the situation been reversed she would not have been the one to kiss him, and yet she couldn’t blame Owen for the action. She had felt the same relief when his lips met hers, shock sliding into easy warmth as his hand on the small of her back held her tight to his body. Had the destruction not surrounded them she would have melted into his embrace easily, never leaving as her full self but rather a liquified mess of the woman she had once been. 

‘You’re everything, Claire. All I could think was; of course it was you. Of all people you were the one who saved my ass and looked fuckin’ great doin’ it. You drive me crazy, Claire, I never know what to say to you.’ 

‘What do you want to do?’ She asked, watching as Owen pushed away from the table, ‘Do you want to talk or do you want to kiss me?’ Her smirk was devilish as she watched him prowl across the room, half growling when he bent to claim her lips with his own. Claire reclined, back falling flush against the bed as Owen climbed over her, the mattress dipping with his weight. 

The muscles in her legs were still sore but nothing was about to stop her. Nimble fingers tugged at the cotton of the towel he was wearing, pulling it away before tossing it to the floor. Claire smirked against his lips as her nails scraped up his back, Owen’s kisses turning to her neck. She was purring in a heartbeat, spine already arching as a large calloused hand found its way under her t-shirt. Of all the things the hotel staff managed to find for them to wear, a bra was not one of them, nor underwear. 

The sound Owen released in the back of his throat was animalistic when he found her breast bear, nipple already pert and ready for his touch. He flicked a thumb over her flesh, eliciting a response before he bowed his head, taking her breast into his mouth, shirt and all. 

Claire pushed both hands through his hair, marvelling at the feel of still wet locks sliding through her fingers as his tongue circled her nipple before his teeth bit down. She hissed, sound escaping her with surprise as her fingers flexed in his hair. ‘Take it easy,’ She whispered, fighting for clear breath without having to pant. Claire tried to easy him into it, one hand gentle in his hair as the other slid from his shoulders to his ass, her movements slow, savouring every ridge between his ribs and twisting muscle under his skin. ‘Savour it.’ She hummed, feeling him grunt against her breast as a hand slid from the other to count her ribs before coming to rest at the curve of her waist. 

Asking a man like Owen to savour sex was like asking the parched to drink slowly. It would take some encouragement, but he would eventually get there. Her mind was still spinning, the world not quite right. She didn’t want hard and fast, she wanted soft and slow as the tequila settled in her belly, still ripe in her throat after Owen had raided the mini bar when they walked in, offering her one without a word. 

He did slow down, his large hands gently pushing at the fabric of her pants as Claire lifted her hips. Owen pressed kisses down her stomach, waiting a beat between each as he slowly descended down her body. She kicked her pants off when he reached her hips, kiss pressed to the small patch of hair there before moving down her thighs. 

Owen tortured her like he was tasting a fine wine, doing everything but actually _tasting_ it. Her body squirmed beneath his ministrations, Claire whimpering a small _‘please’_ as her hand played at her breast, propped up on her elbows to watch him drive her insane. 

‘Patience is a virtue.’ Owen clicked his tongue, grinning like the cheshire cat as Claire flopped her back to the mattress once again with a grunt. 

‘Oh, so now you’re using my lines.’ Claire’s moan was built on the back of a laugh when Owen’s tongue ran a slow thick line up her labia. Her hand found his hair only to tug on it, the woman suddenly out of words as her breath logged in her throat. Claire was at the mercy of his fingers and tongue, one hand holding her hips down as the other took part in sweet torture, building her up before the string threatened to snap. Owen stopped at nothing until he felt her muscles tighten, her voice pitched slightly higher as she whimpered about being close. She was putty in his hands after that, trying to swallow deep breaths as his kisses ascended up her stomach.

Claire raised a hand to his cheek as Owen’s lips steered off course, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist before he buried himself against her neck. She could feel his cock hard against her stomach, muscle twitching as she moaned softly in his ear.

He kissed her gently, lips barely grazing hers as he watched the lust flicker in her green eyes. She held his gaze, hands on his face, fingers fidgeting with his ears as she kissed him sweetly. A shy smile broke past the teeth buried in her lip as Claire hooked a leg over his hip. She mirth grew as the lust expanded in her eyes, her hips rolled against his causing Owen to drop his head with a groan. They didn’t exchange words as Owen slid into her slowly, a low grunt falling from his lips as he finally buried himself to the hilt. Claire was perfection. Owen thought every woman was God once inside them, chasing the end of his release. But she was more than that, Claire was a goddess, high priestess of his heart, holding him captive by the dick and completely relentless in letting go. He didn’t want her to. Owen wanted to remain within her embrace forever as he learnt to control his pace, pulling his hips back slowly as she mewled beneath him.

Owen sunk his teeth into the side of her shin, his hand holding her leg to her chest. Claire chuckled, spine arched slightly as he moved within her at an agonising pace. ‘What?’ Owen grunted, turning his gaze towards the curl of her lips. She frowned softly, fingers returning to his face as she tried to iron out the creases there. 

‘So serious.’ She barely whispered, fingers smoothing out the deep groves. Owen hummed, repeating her statement as he tugged her wrist from his face to touch her fingers to her furrowed brow. Her features lightened, softening in a bare millisecond as Owen, without word, slammed a hard thrust against her hips. The gasp that escaped her was unleashed without notice, an exclamation filling the air at his change of pace.

They did slow, his hands splayed against the curves of her body, her breath catching softly with every thrust. Owen couldn’t be tamed, her slight teasing pushing him over the edge as he nipped at her chin listening to her gasps come hard and fast, her breath hot against his skin. 

Where her fingers grazed his skin softly, they now dug in committing half moons to the flesh of his back as her hips bucked in response to his hard thrusts. She was whispering _‘harder’_ into his ear with each movement, Owen pushing himself further and further as his skin smacked against her body, forcing the air out of her lungs. 

Claire didn’t want to be fucked. She wanted lazy, almost sloppy, sex movements calculated as their climaxes built within them roughly, climbing their sipes one vertebrae at a time. She wanted to feel what it felt like to have Owen Grady inside of her, his skin sliding against hers, the callouses on his hand scratching against her smooth belly or tender breast. She wanted to savour it, to hold every minute detail close to her chest as he buried himself inside of her. Surprisingly, she didn’t mind the change in pace, her heart beating wildly as she held on for dear life, every thought chased from her mind. Instead, Claire focused on Owen. She chased the feeling of him, with his fast beat, revelling in the bite of his teeth, his kiss lingering on her lips before he moved to claim a breast. If her feet weren’t already aching Claire would have to assume walking would be difficult in the morning.

Her climax coiled in her belly, building rapidly out of nowhere, barely giving her a second to breathe. His name was broken as it feel from her lips, her throat only able to project the _‘oh! oh! oh!’_ of his name as her body tensed, coil compact for a split second before it snapped. Owen’s handgraciously found its way between their bodies, thumb grazing past her clit as her orgasm broke, ripping across her body in languid waves, smile lazy on her face. 

Owen kissed her cheeks, once on each side before returning to her chin, her nose, her forehead; kisses peppered all over her face as she giggled, his movements within her slow again. Claire scrunched up her nose, freckles dancing on her skin as he teased her while laughter drifted from them both. She nipped at his chin, playfulness turing into ferocity as Owen’s brain switched gears moving from her lulled post coital high to seeking the end of his release. It didn’t take long, two long pumps of his hips and he was grunting against her breast, burying his head there as Claire threaded her fingers through his hair. 

‘We should have done this after our disaster date.’ Owen grinned, leaving a kiss at the valley between her breasts, a large hand still running over her skin as he admired the beginning of a bruise he didn’t intend to leave behind. Claire chuckled, ribcage shifting beneath his lips as she shook her head, her eyes rolling. 

She wasn’t going to tell him that she had considered it that night. Although the date was a set up from start to finish the idea of fucking him for the simple hell of it lingered in every spare moment. It took all her self control to not cave, storming away from him instead as real irritation flared in her belly. He made it easier than he was supposed to, but then again, Claire knew they were mostly incompatible. He was bound to surprise her. 

Owen was muttering something about the sex they could have been having, his finger lazing circles around a nipple as she daydreamed, still shaking her head at his ridiculous thoughts. ‘We would have killed each other.’ She sighed, or at least driven the other crazy enough that they leftin such a horrible mess they could never talk again. Owen drove her insane, he knew all the right buttons to push, but he kept her mentally charged, on her toes with every new encounter. Where she wanted to throttle the man she also wanted to straddle him. Had they let that happen too soon, they would self combust. 

‘What’s going to happen now then?’ He asked, voice now as he kissed the side of her chin finally rolling to his side with a slight groan. 

Claire was quiet, curling her body into his as she revelled in his warmth. They would both need to shower again, the room smelling of sex, their skin sticky with sweat. A tired sigh left her lips, dragging from her lungs on a slow exhale. ‘We wait and see.’ For now, they would likely nap, desperate for the shuteye while they were capable of getting it; finally exhausted enough to let their eyes close and slip into a temporarily blissful sleep. 


	141. #141 - Charlie, Elliot and Nora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes wrong in Claire's plan for her youngest daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My trip can now be in it’s final stages of over with this complete and posted. We had a fair number of ‘coach days’ driving from country to country. This was something I’ve had in my head since I first had to consider an older Elliot. Now it’s officially canon.

For twenty-three years there had always been a distinctive sound to the end of their evenings. It began with Owen’s voice, sports already on the TV before it shifted, adapting to the gurgles and cries of Charlie, the rattle and shake of her toys, her happy cheers that Daddy was home and eventually the sound of her shoes hitting the floorboards, her school bag following suit. Elliot was no different, if not a little quieter. 

Claire barely heard her youngest child come home at the end of the school day. Elliot ran like clockwork. She was home on time without missing a beat while her sister had been the one to dawdle, lingering in the schoolyard or at the bus stop, often going to a friend’s place rather than coming home. Elliot always appeared in the kitchen at quarter to four. She made a sandwich and she started her homework at the counter. She waited patiently until her mother noticed she was home, making her tea as she kissed her daughter on the head and asked about her day. 

Instead of her usual silent routine, Elliot’s bag thunked on the hardwood floor, just where the hallway met the living room. It was a Charlie move despite the older girl being in her own home rather than the one she was raised in. Claire looked up immediately, unused to the old but familiar sound. 

Glasses perched on her nose and paperwork in her lap, she raised her eyes to Elliot. ‘Hey honey, bad day?’ She asked with a soft smile, eyes watching her strawberry blonde teen with caution. Rarely did Elliot act out and the mood that was radiating off her screamed that something was off. 

The girl kicked her shoes off before dragging her feet across the carpet. She dropped beside her mother gracefully, head falling on Claire’s shoulder as she exhaled deeply. 

Instinctively, Claire ran a hand through Elliot’s hair. Fingers gracing the strands of her eighteen-year-old, no longer the tiny baby she had once been. Mournfully Claire watched the young hands that sat in her lap. ‘I know getting through this year is tough.’ Claire started, breathing in the silence of the room. ‘But, it’s not the be all and end all of everything. Dad and I want you to succeed in life, but your senior scores - they don't matter to us. Okay? I just want you to be stress free and enjoying life. You’re smart enough to get through this.’ Claire squeezed Elliot, kissing the top of the girl’s head. 

Elliot exhaled long and low before her shoulders started to shake. Without real warning a sob broke from her, cutting the girl in half as her tears began to flow. 

Claire discarded her work, papers put to the side as she pulled her glasses off and closed the lid of her laptop. She focused wholly on Elliot and the sudden emotion she hadn’t expected. They had managed to see Charlie through her senior year without incident. The girl had developed a nasty attitude that thankfully faded as soon as her exams were over. From there they watched her start her college years and complete them while chasing her dreams. Elliot had seemed fine, until now. 

She sobbed like her world was ending, big deep cries that rocked her mother to her core. Claire prodded quietly, asking what was wrong as she tried to soothe her child. She only wished the girl was little again, easy to scoop up and kiss away her fears. Elliot was closer to her twenties than her childhood, her mind had already learnt to lie and conceal for self preservation. There was no going back. 

‘You’re going to be so mad.’ Elliot stuttered through her sobs, hands on her face trying to wipe at her thick tears as they kept falling. 

Claire shook her head. ‘Never.’ 

‘This time you will be.’ Elliot argued, shaking her head. 

Claire didn’t have a chance to retort. Never had they been mad with their daughters to the point one was scared to tell them something. They had yelled. All parents yelled, voices raising in frustration as their teens wouldn’t understand what message the adults were trying to put across. Never at Elliot though. She rarely found trouble or fought back.

The front door clicked open with the familiar sound of Owen’s footfalls. Elliot’s cries only grew harder. Claire’s husband stopped in the archway, blinking at the sight in front of him as he asked his wife a silent question. She responded with a small shrug as Owen followed the same path as Elliot, kicking his shoes off to walk across the carpet. It was endearing how Claire had trained them all so well, even her husband who still managed to leave his towels on the floor, had learnt _no shoes on the carpet_. It had taken some effort, and the carpet cleaning bill to finally drill it into their heads. By then, her girls were halfway through schooling. 

He crouched in front of his wife and daughter, hand on each of their knees as he studied Elliot. She cried a little as a girl, over bullies, scraped knees, and ballet recitals - nothing had poured from her cheeks as viciously as the upset he was witnessing.

‘You okay, bug?’ He asked softly, squeezing her knee while hoping she would curl into his lap and tell him everything. Elliot cried harder, shaking her head at the man. 

‘I just want Mom.’ She managed around an attempt to catch her breath as she buried her face into her mother’s shoulder. Owen took the hit well, knowing Elliot had always preferred her mother be it matters of the heart or general needs. It hadn’t changed much since she was born. 

He hummed softly, muttering a small joke as he kissed her forehead before leaving the room, stopping in the doorway to watch them both for a second. Owen hated walking away, especially when his children were upset. Elliot remained on a pacifier a year and a half longer than necessary because her father couldn’t leave her to cry in the night. 

Claire collected the girl into her arms, pulling her as tight as she possibly could, kiss pressed to her head. ‘I’m starting to worry now, El.’ Claire listened to her daughter’s cries, sigh falling from her lips as Elliot’s sobs vibrated through her chest. Her level of distress registered higher than Claire was used to dealing with. ‘You need to tell me what’s going on.’ Her tone dropped, she didn’t usually push, but then again her children didn’t usually come home in hysterics so much so that they couldn’t breathe. 

Elliot hiccoughed, trying in vain to level her breathing in order to catch her breath. When she found a small window she spoke, her voice quiet like a mouse sneaking about. 

‘I’m pregnant.’ She whispered, almost choking on her words as she forced them out. Her body tensed immediately lying in wait for the verbal backlash her mother was sure to unleash. Claire Dearing raised her daughters to be intelligent, well-spoken, and unstoppable. She expected them to change the world by ruling it. She did not, however, expect her youngest to say she was pregnant at eighteen, a week away from her senior exams. 

Her mother didn’t say a thing. Elliot expected something, holding onto her tears just to hear how disappointed her mother was. Instead, Claire wrapped her arms around the child tighter.

‘Are you sure?’ Claire asked softly, breath stirring the hairs on Elliot’s head. She had relaxed in her mother’s embrace only to tense again. Yes, Elliot was sure. She watched too many sticks turn positive to doubt it, finding out in the school bathroom during her lunch break. 

She nodded her head softly, biting back the tears again as a sob wobbled from her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry, Mama.’ She whimpered, head on Claire’s chest. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She held her breath. ‘I’m so scared.’ 

Claire kissed the top of her head. A shaky breath left her, rage churning in her belly. She was trying hard not to speak, to voice the thoughts in her head unfairly aimed at her daughter when she could potentially direct them at someone else. 

‘First, we start with a nap.’ Claire’s voice was quiet as she stroked a hand through Elliot’s hair, her movements habitual. The girl rarely napped, even after a long day. Claire needed quiet. She needed Elliot out of her way. She needed to process her thoughts before she couldn’t see straight. 

Elliot nodded softly, eyes drooping at the suggestion of sleep. She watched her daughter leave the room, the sound of her feet tapping on the stairs before Claire could faintly hear her bedroom door shut. 

She waited a beat. Holding her breath with her eyes closed before Claire pushed herself from the couch. 

Owen was in the kitchen, flicking through a cookbook, as he pretended to regard the work on his computer. ‘Ellie okay?’ He asked softly at the sight of his wife, watching her body glide into the room and move straight for the cupboard. Silently she pulled out a wine glass and a singular plate. The glass was filled easily with red wine pulled from a separate cupboard, leaving Claire to take a long sip, not bothering to savour the taste. 

Owen watched her with worry. She didn’t answer his question. Claire finished the glass and stared at it as if contemplating pouring another or debating the ins and outs of the universe. ‘Our daughter is pregnant’. She took the plate from the counter and promptly hurtled it towards the floor. It shattered, remnants scattering across the room in all directions. Claire just looked at it, pained noise caught in her throat, as Owen’s hand caught her elbow. 

‘Excuse me?’ Owen asked, watching as Claire slipped into a bar stool, back straight, eyes glazed over. ‘She’s eighteen, Claire.’ His wife hummed, sound disgruntled like she didn’t know the age of her child. 

‘What are we going to do?’ Claire asked quietly, ‘She’s a baby herself.’ Her whisper was as quiet as Elliot’s confession. Tears were burning in her eyes and streaking down her cheeks before she could stop them with a frustrated huff. 

Owen shook his head. ‘That _child_ upstairs is not pregnant.’ He had chosen the path of denial as he stood beside his wife, one hand pointing to the ceiling above them, while the other rubbed circles over Claire’s back. He was boiling with rage, yet the compassion stayed for the woman he married while his heart ached for his little girl. 

‘I mean, I’m going to have to get her an appointment. But, if she says she is. She must be. We didn’t raise these girls to live off assumptions. They know to check the facts. I don’t doubt that’s not the case here. But, I just - I’m so … I had to get her out of the room, Owen, before I said something I shouldn’t have.’ Her breath shook as she inhaled, ‘I’m a terrible mother’. 

‘You’re not.’ Owen sighed. 

Claire nodded. ‘I am. My daughter is pregnant and my first thought was of disappointment.’ A hand scrubbed over her face. Tuesday’s were good days. Tuesdays were the days Claire got home early, Owen too. They were quiet nights with Elliot curled up with dinner and a movie. Tuesday nights weren’t for life changing reveals. ‘I don’t know what to do and for once in her life; this isn’t up to me or you, it’s up to Elliot. She has to make the decision here and that terrifies me.’ 

Claire got up, mindlessly tiptoeing through the kitchen as she boiled the kettle and prepared a hot drink. Elliot’s favourite had always been hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows. It was signature Elliot from her first little sip of the same drink Charlie didn’t want when they were girls.

‘I have to talk to her.’ She announced to Owen, Elliot’s mug already full, as if he hadn’t watched her do the same thing over and over for decades. Like the worn peach coloured mug hadn’t been Elliot’s since she was five-years-old. 

Claire ascended the stairs wordlessly, watching the drink in her hands before she knocked softly, hand on the doorknob. 

Elliot wasn’t asleep. Claire knew she wouldn't nap. She hated to ruin her schedule. She blinked at her mother with fresh tears, silver streaks shining on her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to make you mad.’ She whispered, voice dry. Claire shook her head, mouth open, ready to lie. ‘I heard the plate break. You don’t do that often.’ 

‘I don’t do it at all.’ Claire replied weakly. She hated breaking things but there had always been something satisfying in letting china hit the floor. 

She did it sometimes. Not often. Barely even once a year. Plate smashing was left for dire situations. Even Elliot could recall a particularly bad time in her parents relationship where she overheard her mother begging for a divorce, her father refusing. The second time she only heard the commotion rather than the words. It was Charlie who filled her in only semi recently into their partial adult lives. Regardless, Claire Dearing smashed plates when she was emotionally desperate. 

‘Does Daddy know?’ Elliot asked quietly despite knowing that he did. If Claire didn’t tell him beforehand she would have been forced too after the crockery hit the floor. 

Claire nodded softly, watching as her daughter’s face crumpled, trying to hold back the tears that had already forced their way past her defences. 

‘I need to know a few things, Ellie.’ Her mother started in a soft voice, handing over the peace offering to her shaking child. The very same little girl who fought for her life and spent her childhood clinging to her mother’s side. Before Elliot, Claire had truly wondered what maternal love felt like. It was her second child who taught her to love the first, to give Owen and Charlie a chance, and to fight as long as they had. 

Elliot nodded, watching as her mother sat on the side of her bed. It felt so girlish and innocent to be sitting there, like a bedtime story was about to be read. 

‘I know I asked earlier, but are you sure you’re pregnant?’ Elliot nodded steadily, explaining the three tests she had taken that afternoon and the subtle myriad of symptoms she had been feeling and concealing from her parents. ‘You don’t have to give me a name. But, do you know who the father is?’ 

Elliot nodded again, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her flesh wobbled, hot tears falling once again. ‘You don’t have to worry about him though, Ma. He doesn’t care about me.’ She sobbed, easily letting her head fall to her mother’s shoulder as she admitted that the boy who got her pregnant already knew and steadily denounced her from his life. 

‘Do you know what you want to do?’ Claire asked and Elliot gave a worried shake of her head. She knew what her mother meant; her options. She could get an abortion, or put the baby up for adoption, or she could keep it and it’s consequences. ‘Okay.’ Claire sighed, hand in her daughter’s hair. ‘I want to get you an appointment for tomorrow. They’ll be able to give us a rough guess of how far along you are - we can make the big decisions after that.’ 

Elliot nodded, letting the silence drift between them as her eyes started to feel heavy. ‘I’m sorry that you and Daddy tried so hard to have me and I’ve just royally fucked everything up. I didn’t mean it. I thought I was being safe. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want to be the disappointment, Mama.’ A sniffle fell from her with a tiny cry so weak Claire couldn’t help but be reminded of her premature daughter fighting for her life. 

‘It’s not the end of the world, Ellie.’ Claire whispered, sitting quietly with her daughter. They fought for Elliot, in so many more ways than one. She didn’t just fight for her life, but her mother endured several miscarriages before one managed to stick. There was too much heart ache there to simply throw her away. Even if there wasn’t a gut wrenching story, Claire Dearing wasn’t about ready to give up on her children simply because they made a mistake. They were too smart for that, their mother easily understanding on the matter of their youth. 

‘But Daddy’s going to be so mad with me. And you are to, I know it.’ She wobbled, unable to move from the topic once it was out in the open. 

Claire hummed. She had not registered how mad her husband was. She heard his hollow words and the underlying plea that she pass it off as a joke not a true statement. His grip on her elbow was hard, but not completely ungentle. He knew how to hold his strength, apart from times of dire distress. ‘It will be okay.’ 

Elliot shook her head. ‘No, it won’t. You and Dad hardly talked to Charlie after the Miles incident.’ Elliot, as always, had a point. 

‘This is different.’ 

‘No, this is worse.’ She wanted to put herself at the bottom of the food chain despite being terrified of her father’s reaction. Elliot didn’t want her parents to think less of her, but she did want them to think reasonably. 

‘Elliot.’ Her mother sighed, the sound usually accompanied with Charlie’s name rather than the youngest Grady. ‘Yes, this is a big deal. But it’s a sensitive one, and it’s something you have sort through on your own. I can stand there for appointments and hold your hand, I can book them for you. But at the end of the day this is your responsibility. You can tell me you were safe and god will I believe you. I know you’re sensible and smart, and these things happen. Charlie wasn’t exactly planned, she was just as unexpected as this. But, you have to make the decisions here. It’s your body, not mine. I can be mad and disappointed, I’m your mother I had higher hopes for you. That doesn’t mean that keeping this baby will ruin you, or getting an abortion will make you any less of a person. My feelings about this shouldn’t affect your choice. I will always be here if you need to talk or to cry. But, this is an adult problem, one that mine and Dad’s feelings aren’t allowed to affect your decision. You have to do this for you, if you want to. Not others.’ 

Elliot nodded with a sniffle. ‘I don’t want to be a grown up.’ Her lip folded, new tears falling from her eyes as her mother pulled her into her lap.

‘I know, baby, I know.’ 

[...] 

Claire Dearing never thought she would be sitting in her obstetrician’s office with her eighteen-year-old daughter. 

Elliot was deathly quiet, sitting on the table she had eyed off warily when they were let into the room. Her eyes hadn’t met Claire’s since they got in the car but the sight of the stirrups made her gaze turn towards her mother with worry.

‘Okay, sweetheart,’ Dr. Julia Carson reentered the room with a quiet click of the door. She watched Elliot for a second, the child’s eyes on the hands in her lap, slight cringe on her lips. Carson could remember the early morning where Claire was already at her office before they opened, anxious with an uncontainable smile. She was pregnant and after a few mishaps she was sure this one was going to stick. She knew, eventually and inevitably one of the Grady girls would end up in her office for a similar happy reason. She just expected them to be older. ‘Everything’s come back positive.’ Carson’s eyes were on Elliot who only shook out a sigh through thin lips. Her mother was exactly the same, head towards her lap, forcing herself to find some control. ‘I want to do an ultrasound to get a closer look, if that’s okay with you.’ Elliot nodded slowly, eyes finding her mother as Claire shuffled closer. 

Elliot squeezed her eyes closed, only doing as the doctor said while her mother curled two fingers around Elliot’s index. 

It was over before she knew it. Bottom lip wobbling furiously as Carson let her collect herself. ‘Okay, Elliot. Everything’s looking good which is always a plus. I wanted to take the opportunity to talk with you about your options.’ She was gently spoken, pulling out leaflets for Elliot and talking her through them rather than sending her home to deal with it. ‘I would put you at four weeks. Which still gives you some time to make up your mind but not a whole lot of it.’ Carson gave the girl a kind smile, her hand reaching out to squeeze Elliot’s. ‘You have your mom, too. She is a great resource for information.’ Elliot nodded silently. ‘Would you like me to print off the sonogram? Or would that make it harder for you?’ Elliot had kept her eyes closed the entire ultrasound, her teeth gritted tight. 

She shook her head softly, looking between the doctor and her mother. ‘Can I have one?’ She rasped, waiting for Claire’s permission. 

[...]

‘Motherfucker!’ Charlie’s voice hit their ears as Claire and Elliot stepped through the door. 

The youngest Grady threw her mother a questioning look, disappointment flaring in her eyes that Claire couldn’t keep it to herself. Her mother shrugged, she wasn’t the one to call Charlie. Which either left Owen, or the eldest was visiting unprovoked. 

Cautious, Elliot moved for the kitchen. She fiddled with the small envelope in her hands, as she peered in on the scene between her sister and father. Charlie sat on the kitchen bench, arm around her waist, hand on the counter, their father tending to it. 

‘What happened?!’ Claire pushed into the room, watching her daughter and husband with a confused knot in her brow. 

Charlie grinned, her usual about-to-get-in-trouble grin. ‘Hey, Mama.’ She didn’t move from her place on the counter, forced to sit there countless times over her childhood as her parents doused her in antibiotic creams and bandaids. Today was no different, Charlie holding a bag of frozen peas to her side as Owen dabbed at cuts across her knuckles. 

‘Charlie,’ Claire lowered her voice. ‘What happened?’ 

‘Nothin’.’ Her daughter shrugged, ‘Hey, Little Mouse.’ She grinned towards Elliot, trying to sound casual as she winched, hand gripping her side.Elliot watched her like she had killed someone, blood on her hands spilling further than her knuckles. ‘Okay, so maybe I beat the shit out of Markus.’ She admitted, bending under her mother’s glare. Elliot paled. ‘Don’t worry, Dad put an end to it before it got too bad.’ 

‘Oh great, your father was involved.’ Claire’s worry shifted from Charlie’s fingers to anger as she levelled Owen with a glare. 

‘Well, he couldn’t exactly hit a twenty-something.’ Charlie shrugged, ‘And Markus was my best friend until he fucked my sister. So, I felt I better step in.’ Elliot flinched at the language, wishing she could sink right into the floor. 

Claire opened her mouth, ready to argue that violence wasn’t an option when Charlie cut her off. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want to hurt the dickhead that got Ellie pregnant.’ Claire hissed a short language at her eldest who likely would never learn to catch the swears before they graced her lips. ‘He doesn't give a shit about her Mom! God knows why she kept sleeping with him but you can’t exactly take it out on Elle. Hit the guy who's not going to be there to take care of this kid or the well meaning young girl who is too kind to hurt a fly, let alone get an abortion.’ 

‘I’m right here!’ Elliot raised her voice, drawing attention to herself instead of Charlie and her blunt attitude. All eyes were on her as she felt hers begin to burn. ‘No one invited you to defend me, Charlie.’ Her sister looked towards Owen, nodding her head at him softly. He had called her with the agenda of finding out who exactly had gotten his daughter pregnant. Charlie knew everything, even when she didn’t she had a way of finding out. It didn’t surprise him that she already knew, Elliot having called her a few days earlier. When he realised he couldn’t hit the man unprovoked, Charlie volunteered. He had been her friend after all, until her fist collided with his nose. 

‘No one invited you to make judgement on my character either.’ She bit back, ignoring the look Charlie and Owen were sharing. So what if she had already knew she wouldn’t get an abortion. Her sister couldn’t sit in the kitchen judging her life choices. ‘Since when did this concern the whole family anyway? I confided in Mom, not the rest of you.’ 

‘Fuck you, Elliot. Markus is a piece of shit. I won’t apologise for giving him what he deserved. If you weren’t such a frail little bird we wouldn’t have to step in for you.’ 

‘Charlie, that is _enough_!’ Claire hissed, placing herself between the two girls. She couldn’t believe that they were twenty-three and eighteen and she still had to intervene when it came to spats between them. Charlie always was the one to take it too far, pushing her sister to the limits and playing coy when she finally snapped. 

‘Fuck _you_. I could have handled this on my own. I didn’t ask either of you to get involved.’ Elliot spat, hands twirling in the air as she circled Charlie and Owen with her fingers. ‘This isn’t the Dad and Charlie shit show, okay. For once, it’s about me. Is it so hard to not make a big fucking deal out of it?’ 

‘Elliot,’ Owen began, his voice low on a growl. 

The girl practically turned on him, eyes shooting daggers like her mother when she was mad. ‘ _Don’t_.’ She hissed, silencing him immediately with a look and a word.

The room held its breath lying in wait for her next move. Elliot glared at her father and then her sister before her face softened and she left the room. The slam of her bedroom door echoed in their silence. 

‘Why must you always push her?’ Claire turned to Charlie, voice scolding as she hugged her eldest in greeting and kissed her cheek. 

Charlie shrugged, ‘She needs to be pushed now more than ever.’

[...]

‘You know I love you right, that’s why I choose to defend you. Dad too.’ Charlie had only knocked softly before she pushed Elliot’s door open. ‘We’re family, you’re not supposed to ask for help. We just do it.’ Elliot grunted, barely looking up to address the intrusion in her room. ‘Dad’s acting like a kicked puppy right now.’ Charlie sighed. 

‘Yeah, well he shouldn’t have acted like a neanderthal.’ Elliot shot back, shrugging her shoulders like she didn’t care. ‘I get that you want to protect me. But, it’s too late now. I’m already pregnant.’ 

Charlie sighed. ‘But I can still hit Markus for it. I’m allowed to want to protect your name. Boys turn at the flick of a switch, Ellie. You told him that you thought you were pregnant and he instantly turned to his friends to talk shit about you. He won’t change. He doesn’t deserve to change. You’re the sweetest, kindest, most loving creature on this planet. He’ll never be allowed into that delivery room or our house for Christmas dinner.’ Elliot opened her mouth to argue, Charlie stopping her with a raised hand. ‘No excuses. Dad will never let him into this house let alone his family. Not after this.’ 

‘Did he hit you back?’ Elliot asked quietly, watching the way Charlie nursed her side.

Charlie scoffed. ‘What do you think?’ She lifted her shirt revealing the bruise that was already forming in light blue below her ribs. Elliot only stared, mouth agape as she tried to express that Charlie didn’t need to go through that. ‘It was nothing.’ She shrugged, ‘’sides, it coerced Dad into throwing a punch. I’m sorry that Markus was a piece of shit.’ She left out that she had tried to warn her sister when she noticed the two had become incredibly close.

She let that argument be. 

‘So, how many plates did Mom break?’ Charlie asked with a grin, knowing she had to be onto something. Elliot shyly held up four fingers, meekly watching her sister through her eyelashes. ‘Damn she is mad.’ 

‘She hasn’t taken it out on me yet.’ Elliot admitted, eyes on her quilt. 

Charlie nodded, ‘She won’t. You’re Elliot, her baby. No way is she going to get mad at you, not over this. I don’t think Dad can either. Sure, they hate the situation but you’re too pure, too sweet, too precious for them to ruin it all by being upset.’ 

‘What do you think they’ll do if I tell them I want to keep it?’ Elliot asked quietly, pulling her knees to her chest as she looked to Charlie as she always had; for sisterly advice and inspiration. Charlie was the troublemaker. Charlie was the root of all drama. Charlie was the one person who has all the answers. 

She knew that was going to be the outcome the second Elliot called her quietly in the middle of the night, worry burning in the back of her mind. She knew, long before her sister caved to take the test, that if she was pregnant she would keep what would eventually grow into a baby. 

‘They’ll pull your crib down from the attic, convert the guest room into a nursery, and support you in whatever way you need.’ Charlie told her confidently, knowing their parents weren’t about to force a decision on their youngest. ‘You’re Elliot Paige Grady. They love you no matter what.’ 

[...] 

‘Can we not talk about that tonight?’ Claire sighed softly. They were tucked into bed, Claire’s head on his shoulder, glasses on her nose and book in her hands as Owen read over her shoulder.

He was still caught on the fact that Elliot was pregnant. Claire had enough, she didn’t want to think about it anymore. She had worried for two weeks since her daughter confessed. Claire just wanted her brain to shut off. 

Owen sighed, the sort of sound that came with defeat as he kissed the side of her head fondly. They wouldn’t talk about it. He wouldn’t huff and sigh and wish that things were different. He would sit in silence and sigh at her book instead. It was only a little less irritating. 

In the quiet, Owen’s watch ticked and the pages of Claire’s book scraped against the bedsheets softly with every turn. 

The door creaked softly as it has done for seventeen years, a small nuisance Owen never managed to fix and an easy sign that someone was entering the room. Elliot stood in the doorway, dressed in the Rapunzel pyjamas she had managed to score at the Disney Store. She looked as small as she had always been as both adults turned their eyes on her. 

Without hesitating Elliot climbed onto their bed, happily settling in the centre at the end. ‘You have an exam in the morning,’ Claire warned, watching her child curiously. She needed her sleep to be better prepared. 

Elliot shrugged, hands holding her ankles. ‘I couldn’t sleep anyway.’ She flexed her toes, watching the movement for a second before sighing as heavily as her father. ‘I wanted to talk to you … and no, it couldn’t wait.’ She stopped her mother before the thought was even in Claire's head. They would never turn the girls out of their room, but at quarter to midnight they did encourage going back to bed. 

Claire’s book was closed in a heartbeat, glasses pulled from her nose as she sat up and straightened her spine. 

‘I know you want what is right for me.’ She shifted, pushing shoulder length hair off her face. ‘And I know you are disappointed because this isn’t right for me. But I want you to know that I thought about it. I really did. I made a choice based on what I think is right for me. You’re my parents so I think you know that I want to keep this baby.’ She watched them with soft green eyes, trying to keep back the emotion, a knee bent and ready to run out of the room. 

Owen was the first to react, nodding his head slowly as he looked between his daughter and wife unsure of what to say. They knew to expect this. 

‘Are you ready for this?’ Claire asked Elliot quietly, the sound almost as stern as the way she conducted business interactions. 

Elliot could only nod scared that if she said the words she couldn’t take them back.

[...]

‘I’m scared, Mama.’ Elliot whimpered, sweat on her brow as she squeezed her mother’s hand tightly. 

She had gone into labour just as Claire was about to leave for work, Elliot calling out to her from the kitchen in a terrified panic. 

‘I can’t do this.’ She cried, trying to revel in the kiss Claire pressed to her cheek. 

‘Yes you can,’ Claire soothed, hand in Elliot’s hair. ‘I thought I couldn’t do it when I was in labour with you, you know.’ She started, ‘I was alone in New York, it was way too early for my water to break but you were insistent. I was terrified. I didn’t think I could do it and then there you were. If anyone can do this, it’s you, Ellie.’ 

The girl shook her head, tears and sweat streaking her face as a nurse strolled into the room, checking the girl’s progress. 

‘I want Daddy.’ Elliot whimpered, turning wide green eyes to her mother as the nurse announced she was almost ready to push. 

Her husband was out in the hallway, likely passing back and forth while leaving dirt on the pristine floors. ‘Oh baby, he does not want to come in here.’ She stroked Elliot’s hair, pushing it away from the girl’s face as she felt a slight sting at her want for Owen. 

Elliot whimpered again, begging for her father. Claire caved. She could count on one hand the number of times Elliot desperately called for Owen. She felt selfish keeping the girl to herself but until now, Claire had been everything Elliot wanted. 

Owen turned pale at the sight of his wife in the hallway, woman calling for him on behalf of Elliot. He didn’t know if he could see his daughter that way, but his heart skipped a beat at the news she wanted him. 

He put on a brave face for his youngest. ‘Hey baby,’ He whispered with a large smile as he sat by her side and took her hand. 

‘Can you braid my hair?’ She asked softly, voice shaking as sweat soaked hair stuck to her face. Owen nodded easily, patting down his pockets in search of a hair tie. It had been a while since he needed them. While his girls were young, Owen carried ties in his pockets for the emergency situations where his daughters needed their hair off their fresh faces. Usually on afternoons were he thought they would be fine to leave their hair down. A mistake he never learnt to correct despite his wife’s constant reminding. 

Claire pulled the one from her hair while panic morphed across her husband’s face. He moved accordingly, collecting Elliot’s strawberry blonde hair, almost the same colour as his wife's fading red. 

‘I’m scared, Daddy.’ She admitted, eyes closed as she tried to focus on the age old feeling of her father braiding her hair. 

‘I know you are but I am so proud of you, Ellie. You’re so brave.’ He dropped a kiss to her temple. ‘It’ll all be over soon then you’ll get to hold your baby girl. Are you excited to meet her?’ Elliot nodded slowly, bottom lip wobbling as a contraction rolled through her. 

It couldn’t be over soon enough for Elliot, who found her father right. Before she knew it her doctor was there, asking her to push. Her daughter was in her arms not long after, Elliot crying at the little life that was suddenly hers. 

Her mother was beside her, forehead pressed to Elliot’s temple as she admired her granddaughter, eyes occasionally turning to her husband, tears on his cheeks. 

‘I’m not crying,’ He cleared his throat when he noticed both Elliot and Claire were staring at him. 

‘Don’t worry,’ Claire chuckled, ‘He cried when you were born, too.’ Elliot grinned, eyes returning to her daughter, baby light and warm on her chest. 

Owen rolled his eyes, trying his best to wipe the tears off his cheeks. ‘I’m going to call everyone, okay? I’ll come find your room when I’m done.’ 

‘No visitors, please.’ Claire reminded him, ‘Charlie of course is an exception but Ellie needs a day or two to settle.’ Owen nodded, joking with his wife as he kissed Elliot’s forehead, a finger trailing the cheek of his granddaughter before he left the room. 

‘You did a beautiful job, Ellie.’ Claire whispered, eyes on the baby. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ 

[...] 

‘Charlie’s a good name, you know.’ Charlie joked with seriousness as she lay curled into her sister’s side on the hospital bed, unnamed Baby Grady in her mother’s arms. 

Elliot hummed, ‘Yeah, you know what? I don’t mind Charlotte.’ 

Charlie pushed at her side gently with a frown. ‘Oi, that’s just rude. Everyone should hate that name. Seriously though, do you have any you like?’ She asked, head on Elliot’s shoulder, thumb stroking her niece’s tiny fingers. 

‘Leanne?’ 

‘I see the sentiment there for Mom, but that’s an old lady name.’ 

‘Adelaide?’ 

‘Kate?’ 

‘Daisy?’ 

‘Oh Daisy Grady, make the kid hate herself why don’t you.’ Charlie teased earning an elbow in her ribs for the effort.

‘Maybe I should have thought about this more?’ 

Charlie laughed, ‘Yeah look, most people do.’ 

‘Mom named me on instinct.’ The youngest fought back. 

‘I don’t think that’s going to work this time. You know Adelaide is Mom’s middle name, right?’ Charlie asked, sidetracked as mentally tried to assist in naming her niece. 

Elliot hummed. ‘Yours is Mae.’

‘Dad’s is Michael.’ 

‘Why are we listing middle names?’ Elliot asked with a quiet yawn. Charlie shrugged. ‘I _like_ Adelaide, we could call her Addy.’ Charlie hummed, not entirely convinced with her sister’s suggestions. 

Charlie scrunched her face up. ‘She needs something cuter than that. I know you, Ellie, dig deep.’

‘Nora?’ Elliot suggested, watching the baby in her arms. ‘Nora Lane?’ Charlie knew she was stuck on the name immediately, her little sister rolling the sounds around her tongue, inspecting her child’s face to find the answers there.

Charlie nodded in agreement. ‘What do you think, little one? Nora good for you?’ The infant barely moved, fast asleep and comfortable on her mother’s chest. She flexed a single finger which passed as enough confirmation from her aunt. ‘I’m sold.’ Charlie grinned, head still resting on Elliot’s shoulder. ‘She’s the cutest little thing, Ellie.’ She sighed. 

‘You think you and Kelly will have kids?’ Charlie had surprised her sister with her love and interest in her niece. Even before she was born, Charlie had her hands on every sonogram, asking about development and counting down to the day her niece would be born.

‘I don’t think Kelly and I are that serious. I like her though, would have to convince her to do the pregnant bit.’ 

‘So you can still run off to your project in Indonesia?’ Charlie hummed, grinning with a soft giggle as she mumbled something in response. She had handed the baby back when she started to cry, quickly wanting an end to her wails. Since then, Charlie let the girl lie with her mom, sleeping peacefully as Charlie played with her fingers determined to find the right name. 

‘Do you think you made the right choice?’ Charlie asked quietly, already glad her niece was in her life. Elliot nodded her head on Charlie’s as she watched their braids meet on her chest. ‘Me too. You’re going to be a great mom.’ 

Elliot kissed the top of her sister’s head silently, allowing the room to be still as they watched her newborn breathe steadily. 

‘Do Mom and Dad love her already?’ Charlie arrived just after her parents had left to shower and give Elliot some space. 

‘Dad cried when she was born. Mom wouldn’t let her go after I handed her over.’ Charlie grinned softly, of course they did. Their parents had been on the fence since the beginning but Charlie knew they would melt the second they saw their granddaughter. 

‘Speaking of; I’ve been here 2 hours. Doesn’t take them that long to have a shower.’ Elliot only shrugged. ‘They went home to have sex didn’t they?’ 

‘Do you have to be so vulgar?’ Elliot laughed, crinkling her nose at the thought. ‘Maybe they wanted some peace and quiet before Nora comes home.’ 

Charlie laughed, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Do you remember when they put the lock on the bathroom door? I think you were three and sleeping in their bed at every hour, you even insisted on showering with Mom because you were being really clingy. Everywhere she went, you went. They just wanted to be able to do it without being interrupted. You got so confused when you realised the door could lock. You told everyone about it too.’ 

Elliot laughed, shaking her head at her sister’s memory. ‘The lock is still there. They won’t have to use it much longer.’ 

‘You sure you want to move out and go to college with a baby?’ Charlie asked with concern. Despite the drama surrounding her sister’s exam period, Elliot managed to do as well as everyone knew she would. She got her first choice college, and her second, and her third. Owen and Claire wanted her closer to home, especially with the baby and Elliot relented easily. Her second choice had been in California after all. 

Elliot watched her sister’s phone ring, Markus’ name and picture lit across the screen. Charlie saw it, eyes and ears choosing to ignore it until her niece started to stir. Charlie hung up on his call, unlocking her phone just to reply to him. In capitals, spaces between the letters, all for Elliot to see, Charlie wrote _F U C KO F F_ and sent it. 

‘Mom and Dad don’t deserve sleep deprived lives for the next three years because of me.’ Elliot didn’t bring up Markus, large part of her heart mourning her naivety and once perceived love for the man that had been her sister’s friend. 

‘We don’t mind, Ellie.’ Her mother appeared behind the door, gentle smile on her face as she took her daughters in watching them like they were the air she breathed, clean, unpolluted, the rarest treasure she had ever seen. ‘We’ve been here for you for eighteen years. I think we can manage a few more until you’re on your feet.’ 

Claire crossed the room easily, with the same poise and grace she had held since she got her first internship at twenty. She kissed Charlie’s cheek, greeting her eldest with a fond smile, her hand tracing the braid that fell down the back of her head. Elliot’s was exactly the same. ‘Braid each other's hair?’ 

‘Daddy’s had fallen out.’ Elliot admitted quietly, head resting on Charlie’s. 

‘Now we match.’ Charlie grinned touching the ends of her dark red hair to Elliot’s softer colour. ‘Shame Nora’s hair isn't long enough yet.’ She mused, hand stroking the soft blonde hair on her niece’s head. Waiting for the days she could braid it. It had become a Grady obsession. Owen and each of his daughter's addicted to intricate patterns and the warmth they found in their father doing their hair.

‘Nora?’ Claire asked as she lowered herself onto the hospital bed beside Elliot. Eyes on the baby, hand on her back. Elliot answered with a nod while the baby yawned. Her mother hummed, nodding with gentle approval. 

Owen’s laughter was heard before the man was seen, likely telling jokes with the nurses, hands full of Starbucks. ‘There are my girls.’ He stopped in the doorway, just as Claire had, his eyes on his family all crammed onto the one bed. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it, bigger bed, children growing across twenty years. The difference was his granddaughter. 

Claire had taken the baby hostage when Elliot finally handed her over. Owen was yet to have a proper hold, one where he would never let her go. But he knew, like he had with both his girls, that he would go to the ends of the earth for this new baby. 

He handed the drink tray to his wife, eyes on the newborn. ‘So, now that your mom’s hands are full, can I hold her?’ He teased, listening to the quiet laugh of his family, wife tapping his shin with her foot in protest as Elliot lifted the baby from her chest and handed her over. ‘Has she got a name yet?’ 

‘Nora.’ All three women responded, Elliot’s voice louder than the others.

Owen settled into a chair at the end of Elliot’s bed with his granddaughter, nodding his head in agreement with her name. ‘This is what it’s about.’ He sighed happily, watching his grandchild with a beaming smile. Claire hummed, raising an eyebrow in question for her husband’s meaning. ‘Being a granddad.’ He half whispered before his face contorted large grin spreading across his cheeks like he was the cheshire cat himself. ‘You’re a grandma!’ Owen chuckled at his wife, the words slipping from his mouth like it was all a big scandal. Claire kicked him again, rolling her eyes as a hand subconsciously flattened her hair. 

To think they had been on the fence when Elliot had confessed to them, unsure of if they wanted their young daughter to go through with a pregnancy that would define her life far earlier than it should. But Nora was there and he already couldn’t picture a moment without her. 


	142. #142 - Secret Santa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @cali-forniacationn : Office secret Santa: owen gets Claire and goes all out to look for a gift for her and when she receives it, she's shocked at how much she loves it and someone tells her it's actually from owen and that he put a ton of effort into finding the perfect gift for her. She may or may not confront him to "thank him" 

Owen Grady loved Christmas. Even when he was far from home, the holidays always hummed with a magic air, making him giddy and excited. He revelled in Christmas lights and carols, the usual music in the park changing with the season. He was terrible at giving gifts, though. Cursing his siblings with things they never used, let alone asked for. Alcohol was his go to, bottles of spirits and mixers wrapped in ribbons and awned with bows. His mother only rolled her eyes when he was home, box in his arms clanking with heavy glass. 

That wouldn’t pass this year, not under the guise of Secret Santa when he had to provide a gift for Claire Dearing. He needed something with meaning beyond alcohol or the brave years he bought the pretty young intern he was paired with edible underwear. They always ended well for him, the ones he felt confident enough to write his name on the inside of the box, always sought him out later in the evening, cheeks flushed, determination in their eyes. Claire would never fall for that. Instead, she’d have him fired for sexual harassment and he could kiss his raptors goodbye. 

Regardless, he wanted to find something perfect, a gift that would melt the heart of the ice queen herself. He wanted to argue that he didn’t know where the urge came from, that he was surprised by it. That was a lie. Owen was infatuated and where he liked to rile Claire up for a laugh he also didn’t want to push her too far. 

Christmas was about family, going home for the holidays to good food and potential arguments among relatives. She never left the island at that time of year, she remained on site and available to the holiday staff. He thought she had no family, clearly and only child to deceased parents with her want to not go home. Owen couldn’t remember who it was that told him she had a sister and nephews she kept at arms reach. It baffled him that she didn’t want to go home to them. There were years he couldn’t get leave, years where he was stuck in the navy unable to see his family for the holidays, years where he was miserable. Wasn’t she miserable too? Claire had her reasons, Owen was sure. He had witnessed first hand the way she conducted herself that alone enough evidence that she made her decisions and stuck by them for her own reasons. He was in no place to question that. But, it didn’t mean that Owen wasn’t allowed to make Christmas special for her. 

He couldn’t set something up. There would be no impromptu Christmas in fear that she would take it the wrong way, but he wanted a similar effect. He wanted to bring her joy like the season brought everyone else. Just because she chose to be at work didn’t mean he couldn’t scrounge up the best gift Claire Dearing had ever received. 

It took a week for Zara to get back to him, idea in her head. He had no idea why she trusted him with the _perfect_ gift idea. He wasn’t sure at first, nervous when the item was in his hands; an exact replica of her grandfathers briefcase. He was caught between wanting to track down the original and sidelining the project. Zara warned him that it was personal. Claire didn’t hand out that information willingly, nor did Zara palm it off, pictures and all to the first buyer.

Watching her open it was the killer. Claire sat quietly in a corner of the board room they all occupied, her back to the window as she watched the group around her. Jurassic World’s Secret Santa was run on voluntary participation. She looked like the odd one out, sun setting behind her as her fingers played with the edge of her wrapped box. He was scared of boring holes into the side of her head. His own gift went unwrapped as he watched her, the flow of people obstructing his view as wine and food was handed around. Owen had even managed to tune out the soft hum of Christmas carols, his focus drawn so tightly nothing but Claire existed. 

No one could thumb at wrapping paper as gently as she did, almost scared to peel it back to reveal her coworkers knew nothing about her. She wouldn’t be wrong in that assumption; at least from what Owen had noticed. Claire didn’t intermingle with her co-workers or staff. She was close with Zara, but the other woman had to fight her way into that position. He knew she would be the kind to preserve paper, opening it delicately as to not rip or tear, pulling the edges apart to reveal the plain box in her lap. Her eyes jumped up for a second, scanning the room to see if any of the slightly tipsy bodies had their eyes on her. 

Paper coated the floor, scraps and balls of discarded pieces dancing amongst adult feet with ribbon and bows. No one wasted time in opening their gifts as the champagne started to pour. They were all long into the game of guessing who bought who what while Claire started dumbly at her gift. He threw himself into the conversation happening beside him, stumbling awkwardly into the topic as Claire’s eyes drifted towards him. He gave her a minute before he turned back, catching her lifting the lid from the box precariously. She looked like a scared animal, terrified something would jump out and humiliate her. Owen wanted to tell her it wasn’t a practical joke. Everyone feared her too much to pull a move like that and if she didn’t retaliate; he would. 

Her face transformed in an instant, box lid hanging by her fingertips at her side. She was in shock, jaw relaxed slightly, her eyes wide as her fingers dropped the lid to grace the leather in her lap. She interacted with the bag as gently as she had the wrapping paper, bare touches, too scared to scratch or ruin. 

Her eyes jumped up a second time, looking for a face on hers, watching intensely to catch her reaction. Owen turned away again, heart pounding at the glimmer of tears in her eyes. When he turned back to her she was gone, box and all, chair empty, glass of champagne barely touched on the window pane. He scanned the room quickly, eyes trying to seek out her shock of red hair. Maybe she had gotten up to talk to someone, or get another drink, he half hoped she was behind him; ready to tap on his shoulder. Instead, she was gone like the light after sunset. 

[…]

There was an all too familiar crunch to the way her tyres rolled across the jungle floor. She was the only one who came out there, other than Barry whose truck could be heard a mile away. Owen hadn’t known to expect her. In fact, he thought he could escape her for the holidays going on with his blissfully simple existence without her pushing him for paperwork. 

‘What’d I forget now?’ He asked her in good humour as he watched the woman climb out of her car. She was well kept, as always, every hair on her head contained and controlled.

Her hand fidgeted at her hip. ‘Ah, nothing this time, Mr. Grady.’ He raised a brow, smile turning crooked as he watched her approach. ‘Zara said you organised the briefcase.’ She announced calmly, watching him with soft eyes as the sun glimmered off the lake behind him. Owen hummed, wiping his hands clean of bike grease. He agreed to it quietly, too busy studying her every move as she watched him, fingers fluttering softly. ‘Most people just buy chocolates or a candle, they don’t recreate a seventy-year-old briefcase that got lost in a move.’ 

‘I wanted to get you something nice.’ Owen shrugged like it was no big deal, eyes on the grease rag instead of Claire. ‘You’re always here. I doubt you get any gifts. You deserved to have something with a personal touch. Really, it was no big deal. You keep this place afloat 364 days a year it was just something to say I appreciate that.’ 

Trying to catch his eye, Claire took a step closer. ’That’s not what Zara said.’ Her assistant had confessed easily to the second inquiry Claire made into her secret Santa. She was practically swooning as she detailed the lengths Owen went to for pictures, trying to perfect the details on her grandfathers suitcase. He did everything short of making it himself. No one had gone that far for her. ‘You really didn’t have to. But, you did, so thank you.’ She was right in front of him before he knew it, pressing up ever so slightly on her toes to kiss his cheek before she was gone, out of his personal space and in her own again. ‘Merry Christmas, Owen.’ She grinned, face transforming in the light as he felt himself smiling along side her. 

She made no haste in heading back for her car, only stopping with her hand on the door to suggest; ‘We should get dinner sometime’ like it was so effortlessly casual like he hadn’t spent months trying to find the exact same words without his lip twitching or his voice breaking. She asked him out just as Claire Dearing would; like it was no big deal amongst the chaos of Christmas. 


	143. #143 - Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @cali-forniacationn: at a holiday party Owen tricks Claire into walking under the mistletoe and kisses her (post date where Owen is still pining for her and she secretly still wants him!) would LOVEEE to see her reaction!!

It was the open bar that dragged him there every year. Owen and Barry scoring on free spirits as the night progressed further from evening and closer to early morning. They were always a dressed up affair, dress shirts, suit jackets and gowns of all kinds. It was the one night a year staff from across the park had an opportunity to dress to the nines. 

‘Stop looking for her, man.’ Barry laughed, tapping his friend on the arm to snap him back to the bar at hand. He was shaking his head at his friend, Owen’s eyes scanning the large room in front of them decked with Christmas decorations. It was missing a certain redhead, Owen still pining for her despite their terrible date. ‘I don’t get it. What is it about her that has you so hung up?’ Barry asked, motioning for the bartender to order their drinks. Owen only shrugged, nodding at his friend’s order. He didn’t know what to say when it came to Claire, she made his heart skip a beat and his mind stop altogether, not just because her hair was like fire and her skin moonlight, but because she didn’t just play along to his charm but challenged him to try harder. He did; it gave them a terrible date that he played off to a bad day. ’Maybe she’s not coming, knows just as well as I do that the words “ _open bar”_ will get you to turn up anywhere and she doesn’t want to see your stupid face.’ His friend teased good-naturedly, accepting the shake of Owen’s head as he laughed. 

‘Doesn’t she _have_ to come to these things?’ Owen half pouted. 

‘That’s why we’re here so early, isn’t it? You didn’t want more free booze, you wanted to see her.’ It wasn’t hard to see that Owen Grady was infatuated with the one woman on the island who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Barry was convinced that was why Owen liked her; she was unreachable and once he managed to break that shell and fuck her he would get bored just as he did everyone else. He did like to think that his friend was right in her being the holy grail of women for Owen. Maybe she’d convince him to settle down and become a house husband to their ivy league children. Barry could only think of deluded daydreams in support of his friend’s pining interest. She was next to none, and anything that managed to grab Owen’s attention almost more than his girls was seemingly a good thing. 

Owen accepted his drink, eyes on the bar below their arms as he and his friend carried on with another conversation. Things were either centred around Claire Dearing or the Velociraptors. Owen couldn’t help that he had a knack for falling for creatures that only wanted him dead. 

The whole room seemed to change when she stepped in. Even with his back to the main entrance, Owen could feel it. He didn’t bother to turn, sure she wasn’t really there. Doors opened three hours ago and he had checked every minute for the first two-thirds of his evening. It wasn’t until a small body knocked against his, forearms resting on the bar as the woman pushed herself up further on her toes to call an order to the busy bartender. Owen turned his head, interested in the soft skin that grazed his arm. He watched the bangle on her wrist for a second, admiring the sharp bones there, inches away from his before his eyes dragged their way to her face. 

His breath couldn’t catch any louder than what it did, sparking Claire’s attention as she turned glistening green eyes towards him. She was dressed in silk, as green as the Emerald City from his sister’s favourite film. The red of her hair was soft almost muted from her days spent in the sun, gentle and fine that it would match the texture of the dress she wore. It wasn’t anything extravagant, spaghetti straps and loose bodice, it ceased at her sides, breaking under her arms to open her back putting on display the innocent freckles that lived there. 

She looked him in the eye, smiling softly before the bartender put a drink in front of her, setting Claire free. She broke away immediately, drink in hand, set to saunter back from whence she came. He watched her for a second, trailing her movements before she disappeared within the sea of staff. 

‘Whoa.’ The word fell from him on a sigh, head turning back to his friend who was only rolling his eyes. ‘Whoa.’ He repeated, checking over his shoulder to see if he could catch her again. ‘How does she look so good?’ He asked the universe more than he asked Barry, groaning at himself as he slumped against the bar. 

Barry only shrugged, ‘You are such a sucker’. He laughed, glass pressed to his mouth as he shook his head. ‘How do you go on a horrible date with a woman and still be head over heels?’ It was the one thing he couldn’t wrap his head around; Owen and Claire in general how they managed to rile each other up so well without combusting. ‘Why don’t you just kiss her under the mistletoe and get it over and done with?’ He didn’t realise with that suggestion that his friend and partner would shoot up from his chair, steadily downing his drink in one go and set off in search of Claire. 

‘Can I borrow you?’ He asked, fingers sliding around her wrist as he practically barrelled into her. She turned green eyes on him, slight shimmer dancing across her cheeks thanks to the make-up she wore. He had to swallow his breath. She turned an eye to the people around her before drawing them back to him. ’Can I borrow her?’ He turned to the people she had been talking with, small circle formed around the woman who talked with animated hands. He nodded to himself, ‘Good, good.’ Announcing confirmation before he even got it, his hand tugging on her wrist as he pulled her away. 

Claire followed his grip loosening after a second, intrigue keeping her on his heels. ‘What on Earth do you want, Mr Grady?’ She asked with a huff once they stopped as she watched him pat down the pockets of his chinos. ‘You’re wearing pants, I’m impressed.’ They stopped in a lit courtyard, a cool Costa Rican breeze gently prodding at her hair. Owen hummed, grinning at her devilishly. He promised he owned a pair but at the time she wouldn’t listen. ‘What are we doing out here?’ She asked, rolling her eyes with a slight smile. 

Owen continued to grin, finger pointing at the pergola awning above their heads. It was small enough to miss, slight and barely green in the dark night. She glared at it from between her eyelashes, barely tilting her head to follow his finger. Mistletoe.

A matching grin crept across her face. ‘And what are you going to do about that?’ She asked, clicking her tongue as her eyes rolled softly. He stepped closer, invading her personal space as the tips of his fingers found her waist. 

He kissed her gently, lips barely meeting as Claire leant in, pushing up on her toes to get a little closer. ‘I still hate you.’ She hummed against his lips, chasing his kiss as she delved deeper than his gentle grace. 

‘That’s okay.’ Owen chuckled, hand sliding across her waist as he pulled her hips into his. ‘I can live with that.’ His mouth slid across hers, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she giggled. The sound felt so unreal coming from her lips, grin pressed against his as he felt a fire pool in his belly. Who was this creature that had walked out of their date with such anguish on their face. Now she was giggling and willingly letting him kiss her. Perhaps he had mistaken her for the wrong Claire Dearing. 

‘Mistletoe, am I right?’ She breathed with a slight hitch and a laugh as Owen pushed her against the exterior wall, hands all over her all at once as he bunched the slippery fabric in his palms. She practically purred as his hands slid up her thighs, holding her dress as his fingers started to climb. 

‘Merry Christmas, Claire.’ He peppered kisses across her neck, listening to the hitch in her breath that came with each tiny touch. She muttered something in response, not entirely a Christmas greeting but a demand as long nails dug into his ass. 


	144. #144 - Emergency Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Person A and Person B have had a (serious) fall out for a few months now, but Person B has never changed their emergency contact so when they end up in the hospital Person A is called  
> BONUS: Person A comes running but tries to play it cool (& can’t).  
> (from @otpprompts) 
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: shortly after the island incident, Claire is left fighting for her life in hospital after a deep gash turns septic. She does not die. doES NOT DIE

The ferry port was full of movement, civilians and military alike shuffling alongside the other. Forklifts were moving crates aboard the once passenger ferry, filling the vessel with supplies as minutes ticked into hours. Owen watched it spring to life, dread sunk deep in his belly, duffle hoisted over his shoulder. There was no way anyone should be going back, not even him but someone needed to reclaim the island from the beasts that had taken over. 

His mission was wholly selfish; find Blue and make sure she was okay. He hadn’t been re-tasked for that reason but Owen was willing to let it slip under everyone’s noses. InGen wanted him back on the island for his military history, knowing Owen had never once been hesitant in pulling the trigger. They still didn’t understand the bond they forced him to create with his velociraptors. 

‘I bet you’re practically giddy to get back out there.’ Willis was no older than Owen, if not slightly younger. He was new to InGen, sent to Costa Rica to replace the men lost on island. They met in briefing, the young man blood hungry and raring to go. He had barely seen war let alone understood the creatures they were set to face. He was too young, too trigger happy; exactly what InGen wanted. Someone stupid enough to set foot on that island or people they could easily manipulate. 

Claire warned him about this. She practically begged him not to fall for their tricks. They wanted him to hunt down Blue with the sole purpose of eliminating her. Owen raised her, he knew what she was thinking at any given time. He had argued that no one could predict his Beta, not even Owen, the young dinosaur too strong-willed to be outsmarted. He should have listened to Claire, given her credit where credit was due. Claire Dearing was no idiot, she had quite successfully managed to predict the outcome of the Jurassic World incident blow by blow and he was stupid enough to fall for every trap. 

She stopped answering his calls once he took the job with InGen. Owen couldn’t help but be mournful of that, missing the simple contact they kept up over midnight talks and late morning brunches. He missed the rhythm their bodies had just learnt, the altogether rough contact and soft words. He mentioned the position back at InGen, the possible return to the island and his last possible chance to check in on Blue before life as she knew it ended. Claire stopped calling on him. Her nightmares seemingly manageable without his help as she kept to herself rather than continuing to unfold like the flower she was. 

‘Any minute now, boys!’ Their Operative Leader called out, voice stretching among the group of scattered souls all itching to get a taste of dinosaur flesh. Owen was the only one who had been on the island as an employee. He was the only one stupid enough to go back. The rest were rearing to go like it was a basic hunting trip. 

They were loitering when his phone started to ring, buzzing to life in his pocket where it usually remained dead. Few persons had that number, trading from his old one the TV networks had gotten hold of. Cautiously he pulled it out of his pocket, staring down the private number on his screen. Owen didn’t know what made him answer it; for all he knew it was the networks again, relentless and untiring as they sought him out for yet another statement. 

‘Is this Owen Grady?’ A female voice inquired softly, her words dipped in Spanish as she paused for his response. Owen confirmed hesitantly, holding his breath for whatever they were going to throw at him. At least if they shrieked in triumph at tracking him down again, he would soon find solitude on the island for however long reclaiming would take. ‘Hi, my name is Larissa, I’m calling on behalf of Claire Dearing. She has you down as an emergency contact?’ He could pinpoint the exact moment his heart stopped beating. The second Larissa said Claire’s name a code was called across a PA system in the background. She was in the hospital and if they were calling him; it was bad. 

‘Is she okay?’ He asked, suddenly breathless as the world around him started to swim. 

The woman on the other end hummed. ‘She’s been with us a few days due to an infection. Miss Dearing took a turn for the worse this afternoon and we thought it best she have someone with her.’ 

His heart sank a little further. ‘Is she okay?’ Owen asked a second time, trying to press the woman over the phone for information. Larissa wasn’t giving him anything, only asked that he come and if he couldn’t to pass the word onto a family member who could. 

Willis was trying to flag him down, the young man beckoning towards the ready ferry, soldiers filing on. He was caught at a crossroads, take a right and he would be right back at Isla Nublar, pushing through the jungle in search of his dying passion. Or, he could turn left, head towards the city and the hospital and see Claire through whatever she was battling. It seemed easy enough. He owed so much to his raptors but he owed sanity to Claire, the spitfire woman keeping him sane on the days where he couldn’t find his purpose. It was corny, ridiculous, and Owen knew he would never admit it to her even if she asked. Where everything told him he had to get back to that island; Owen couldn’t find the strength. 

Readjusting the duffle on his shoulders, Owen called to Willis. ’I gotta go!’ He pointed in the opposite direction as the young man threw his hands in the air. ‘She needs - It’s an emergency!’ 

[…]

He spent the better part of ten minutes trying to breathe as he paced the length of the hospital entrance. The air couldn’t infiltrate his lungs fast enough as he gulped it down like he’d just run a marathon, gasping for breath on the sidewalk. He couldn’t see her like this, like he had put everything he had in getting to her as fast as possible. Claire would see it as a weakness, the same one that was supposed to see him back with Blue. Owen didn’t even know if she was conscious, let alone capable of judging the panic in which he reached her. 

Larissa met him on the third floor nursing station with a warm smile and soft eyes. ‘She went into her doctor’s office on Saturday and they admitted her here. There’s a pretty bad gash on her thigh, unfortunately for Claire, it’s infected and it’s been that way for too long.’ 

Owen shook his head. ‘No, we treated that after she got it. It wasn’t that deep.’ The nurse raised a brow, questioning his knowledge against what he had seen. It wasn’t like Owen could forget the feel of her skin under his dirty hands, her skirt hiking as his large palms sculpted their way up her thighs. She hadn’t felt the wound until the pad of his finger brushed over it, the woman pulling herself from him to hiss. The lip lock they had been stuck in, broke, Owen splitting from her to find a hotel grade first-aid kit and the basic care his mother taught him as a kid. 

‘Despite trying to our best efforts, Claire went into septic shock last night. She’s not looking too good, which is why we reached out to her emergency contact.’ He nodded, face drawn in concern as Larissa stopped moving, door between them. ‘We can’t stop her from having a heart attack but we can try to prevent her kidneys from shutting down. In the least, we can be prepared for the worst but she needs someone familiar.’ The nurse offered him an easy smile as she pushed down on the handle and opened the door. 

She looked terrible. Owen would be the first to admit that, fond smile creeping it’s way across his cheeks. Her skin was ghostly white in the light room, her hair dull and dark as it stuck to her face, sheen of sweat coating her skin. He watched her for a minute, timing the rise and fall of her chest before his eyes jumped to the heart monitor that was tracking a tachycardia, caught in rhythm with her fast breaths. 

Owen dropped to the chair beside her bed, his hands falling between his knees. He couldn’t help that his breath was shaking, heart rate rocketing to match her own. It took him a minute of staring at the blue tips of her fingers before he reached a hand out tentatively, index tapping at her cold hand shyly before his fingers slipped under hers. 

‘For the smartest woman I know, you sure are stupid.’ He sighed, body collapsing in his chair as his thumb ran a line across her palm, trying not to be chilled by the coolness of her body temperature.

‘Shut up.’ Claire shot back, her voice quiet, body barely moving. The man beside her jumped slightly, cursing softly under his breath as his hand squeezed hers before relaxing. 

‘What happened?’ He squeezed her hand again, watching as she cracked her eyes open, tired grey looking at him helplessly despite the slight fire that burnt behind her gaze. 

‘That goddamned island won’t cut me some slack.’ She scoffed, her face showing the effort it took her. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on your way there?’ She turned her head slowly, eyes falling on his watch as a knot appeared on her forehead. 

Owen shrugged. ‘Someone has me down as her emergency contact.’ Her eyes jumped away from him, focusing on the wall rather than the stubble on his cheeks. ‘Getting that call by the way; not fun.’ He scolded softly. ‘Why didn’t you call me yourself?’ 

‘I’m fine,’ Claire started to argue. ‘I didn’t think it was that bad.’ She corrected. 

Owen only hummed, ‘I told you that you needed to see a doctor.’ His voice dropped low, not to intimidate but to warn. His stomach was churning at the simple sight of her in that hospital bed, skin off colour, eyes tired. Her body was trying to shut itself down thanks to the claws of a dinosaur that was sly enough to scratch her. While infection flared in her blood, hospital staff were pumping her with antibiotics through an IV taped to her arm. ‘You look like shit.’ 

Her eyes fluttered closed, not before he saw her pupils roll. A light groan left her lips, ‘Thanks for the honesty’.

Owen shrugged, ‘I know you like to pass yourself off as blaze no-shits-given about yourself or others, Claire. But this is next level stupid. You could die, you know that right? Any minute now your lungs could decide to stop, or you kidneys, your brain, and even your heart. Those people out there are doing everything in their knowledge to prevent something from happening because God forbid this planet loses Claire Dearing.’ He huffed, breath falling from his lips as a hand raked over his hair. ‘It takes two seconds to rub antiseptic into a wound. Two seconds, Claire. How hard was that for you?’ 

Her hand fluttered to life, desperately seeking out his touch that had let her go. Finding it, she took ahold, her grasp tight as Owen ceased all movement. He watched her with worried eyes, terrified that she was having a fit but unequipped to tell. ‘Can you just calm down for five minutes?’ She asked, cold fingers clutching his thumb. She yanked on his hand, pulling the man closer to her, his body practically leaning over her bed. ‘I’m not going to die.’ She told him confidently, eyes peeled open once again as if she could will it not to happen. Her confidence was one thing, enough to calm Owen if only slightly humour him. He wasn’t entirely sure it would work in convincing her body to hold off organ failure. ‘There’s someone in here every two hours to clean the wound and redress it. I’m being pumped with all sorts of things. It’s going to be okay.’ 

‘You were admitted two days ago.’ He reminded her, soft frown on his lips. ‘And you’re in the ICU.’ 

‘I promise, you’re not losing me.’ She tried again, squeezing a little harder as he dropped a kiss to her cheek. Owen’s lips lingered on her skin as he inhaled, breathing in the faint smell of her mixed with hospital antiseptic. ‘Not after that ridiculous fight.’ 

Owen pressed a kiss to her nose before he returned, full body, to his seat. A sigh collapsed with him, mirk pulling at his cheeks. ‘So you agree, it was ridiculous?’ He asked with a laugh, watching as Claire rolled her eyes softly making his chest hurt with the effort it cost her. Owen didn’t care how long she had been in his sphere, watching her suffer was not what he signed up for. 

‘Going back to that island is ridiculous.’ She fought back on a quiet breath, glare ever present in her eyes. 

Owen shrugged. ‘I’m not there, am I?’ He quirked a brow, grin growing softly as his eyes remained glued to hers, almost shimmering in the afternoon light that filtered through her window. ‘You’re right. Well, I was right. One of us was right. We stick together; for survival.’ She hummed softly, finger tapping against his. ‘And because you need further supervision when injured.’ Claire sighed, ‘Not to mention the sex.’ He added, letting her hand weakly hit his arm. 

A knock rattled against the door frame, snapping Owen’s attention from the woman in front of him to an unfamiliar nurse. ‘Sorry to intrude.’ She grimaced through an easy smile. ‘Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to go.’ She pouted when he did, before turning with the flick of her pony tail and disappearing out the door. 

He turned his gaze back to Claire, lips still drawn down slightly as he mentally tried to plot a way to stay with her. She squeezed his hand again, her grip weak and almost sweet if it wasn’t because she was ill. ‘It’s not for long. You can come back after lunch.’ He didn’t look convinced.

‘We can tell them I’m your husband and get spousal rights or something?’ He offered weakly with a grin, trying his best to buy a little more time. 

Claire let go of a small sigh. ‘Our faces are all over the news, Owen, they know we’re not married.’ 

‘But, I mean, it could have been a secret marriage. One no one knew about?’ 

‘It would explain the arguing; everywhere.’ She half rolled her eyes, again. ‘That would never work.’ Claire told him softly, ‘I’ll be fine. Just go’. 

[…]

He took his things to Claire’s place instead of his own, pinching her keys from her bag before he left. It had only been two weeks since all hell broke loose at Jurassic World and they were still required to live out of hotel rooms. Owen lost his that morning; the second he was set to return to the island, the project there estimated to last several months. He couldn’t help but flick on the small tv set in her room, determined to kill some time rather than wait impatiently for the second he could be by her side again. 

It was no surprise InGen were being featured, footage showing men in uniform boarding the exact ferry Owen was supposed to be on. The world was in uproar. As far as Owen knew, the retrieval and recovery mission was strictly need to know within the company. They didn’t advertise themselves as going back until they were caught out. He tuned out once his own face stared back at him from the screen, the anchor recapping the events from a fortnight ago as if there were still people on the planet who didn’t know. 

The media loved debating his effort in the whole ordeal. Owen wasn’t sure on if it was released officially, or submitted by someone who couldn’t keep things to themselves. All footage was out. Every angle at every point of the park. Including the tapes from inside the Indominus’ cage, that clearly showed Owen in there and his break for freedom that resulted in the beginning of the I-Rex’s tirade. No matter the channel, the program, or the people; the media loved to discuss whether he should be blamed for the whole thing; or deemed a hero.

‘Well, you see, Cassandra, Owen Grady only performed his heroic acts with the Velociraptors because he had to. He was working to train them to commands. Which was something InGen wanted to utilise when the I-Rex got out of control. Owen knew his raptors weren’t ready. But, he allowed the field test. I don’t see him as a hero at all. Sure, he got to play the card on Main Street in front of the CCTV cameras. But, he selfishly would have kept his raptors to himself if InGen didn’t push for it.’ 

Owen glowered at the screen, almost squinting as he tried to recognise the man speaking. 

‘You were there that day weren’t you, Mike?’ The anchor asked. 

‘Ah yeah, I work - worked - in the control room.’

‘In your opinion, is there a person who can be held responsible for this incident? Or do we call it a freak act?’ 

Mike - the asshole - shook his head with a smug sort of grin. He was free from this all, clearly, not a big enough player in the game to have Masrani Global up his ass about a statement, but cocky enough to pass it off as though he knew everything. Owen barely recognised him, easy to bet Mike was new to the job or so insignificant he went unnoticed. On TV the man shrugged, ‘I mean sure, Cassandra,’ he was flirting. Owen had half the nerve to find the studio himself just to strangle the guy. ‘Someone in Control should have evacuated the island far sooner than they did.’

‘Whose job is that?’ She interrupted. 

‘Ah, that falls on Claire Dearing.’ It really didn’t, Owen wanted to shout, low growl building in the back of his throat. Claire wasn’t the Operations Manager. She wasn’t in charge of Control that day, she just happened to be there in place of the woman who should have been; instead too busy playing hooky in her apartment. Claire had to make a decision that wasn’t hers to make, Simon Masrani breathing down her neck and the knowledge that if Lelani came back and Claire had made the wrong call, her head would be on the line. She waited, like Simon had done, fingers crossed at her sides that it wouldn’t get any worse than what it was. 

The second Lelani came back, news given to her, she ordered an evacuation. Owen could hardly see how it was Claire’s fault once the woman left Control. There were others there more capable in making the decision that was suddenly forced on her.

He turned off the programme as frustration started to build in his belly. An itch kicked off in his legs, building from his ankles up as Owen shuffled through his duffle in search of his basketball shorts. He couldn’t go back to Claire immediately but he could go for a run to clear his head. 

[…]

He was trying his luck in more than one way. It wasn’t exactly 1pm yet, the beginning of visiting hours for the afternoon, but Owen was willing to chance the opportunity in getting into her room early. That and the iced peppermint mocha in his hand specifically for Claire. 

He didn’t notice the smiling nurse until she touched his arm. Owen’s attention snapped, his eyes previously too focused on Claire’s door to register the rest of the world around him. He stared at the young woman dumbly, blinking as if to ask why she was touching him, let alone blocking his way. 

‘Mr. Grady,’ Her voice was soft, almost a little too gentle and just enough to draw all concern to the forefront of his mind. ‘It’s really important that you listen to me right now, okay?’ Her hand was still on his arm, his eyes tearing holes into it as his mind blanked. ‘She’s stable.’ She added making Owen’s heart skip. ‘While you were gone Claire went into respiratory failure. We just need you to be prepared before you go in there. Claire’s on a ventilator until we’re confident she can breathe on her own.’ 

Owen could only describe it like a movie he swore he hadn’t seen. The sort of romantic dramas where the couple is split, one dead or near to and the remaining can only think of her in minute detail, her laugh, her hair, the sun, twirling in circles in a childlike memory of a picnic they apparently once had. Owen and Claire had never had a picnic and yet he still saw her smile bathed in the light from the moon, her hair a mess about her head as she laid amongst his hotel sheets. 

He tried to hold onto that. Her smile. Her hair. Her glow. It shattered the second he stepped into her hospital room, skin still dull and gray, hair limp against her shoulders, ventilator sparking from the machine beside her trailing in tubes across her bed before it attached to her mouth. Owen couldn’t breathe let alone look at her. There was no way a woman that strong could fall to be that weak. 

There was nothing to do other than sit with her quietly. Owen tried to put back the pieces of his mind, his fingers playing with hers gently. He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly she had become so important to him. Too much lay hidden in his head, too many days in and out of the raptor paddock, riling her up, pushing her buttons. For the hell of it, Owen liked to tease her. Part of him wanted the satisfaction that would likely come with wooing and bedding Claire Dearing, marking her off his list as a prize to gain. She changed from that, still effortlessly attractive and smart, but no longer a trophy to mount on his wall. Barry teased about the good life; settling down, starting a family, growing roots in one place and staying there. Claire wasn’t that kind of woman but she made Owen want to be that man. At least for the opportunity to call her his wife as she dressed in gowns and twirled at balls. He liked the challenge. He liked knowing that she was someone worth striving for the second he realised he loved the trill of a never-ending chase. 

When danger called, I-Rex on the loose and Claire by his side Owen could have pinched himself if it wasn’t apparent that the whole thing was real. He wasn’t even thinking on Main Street when his hand found the small of her back and pulled her in close. She tasted of sweat, dirt, and fear in the heat of the moment as she melted into him for a guilty second. He just needed to savour some part of it to mark something real in order to confirm he was still living. The way she squeaked in surprise, her hand tentatively finding his shoulder was enough to solidify his whole world. 

They should have been scared once returned to the mainland, weak and feeble, unable to do anything but collapse into bed for a fitful sleep scoured with nightmares. Instead, they were all hands, Claire quietly following him to his assigned door before she pounced, hands on his face, lips on lips. They stopped to bandage the gash on her thigh, Owen in his underwear focusing intensely on the wound before checking every inch of her for any others. She was scattered in grazes and newly formed bruises, her skin beaten and torn but still in one piece. They fucked loudly, refusing to hold back as Claire alternated between laughing and barely being able to contain a moan. 

Having Claire not talk to him after he announced going back to the island was enough of a killer. At least then he knew it was her choice. This was different. Her body was punishing them both for wasting time. He couldn’t lose her. That was all Owen had decided. 

Condensation from the iced peppermint mocha he bought her, pooled on the bedside table, drawing Owen’s eye as the time passed, watching it stretch across the surface while the machine’s keeping Claire alive beeped. 

He heard her wake up, choking on her breath as her eyes snapped open. Claire’s fingers lifted from his carefully before it started clawing at her chest. ‘Claire? Claire! Stop it!’ He moved immediately, large hands taking hers back, preventing her from tugging at the tube in her mouth. She gurgled, sound in her throat as she continued to choke not used to the feeling of the tube and clearly in shock. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, Claire. You just need to breathe.’ He held her hands to his chest, her fingers tucking around the collar of his shirt as he leant over her, one hand stroking her hair as he tried not to focus on the tears in her eyes. ‘You’re not doing too good, Red.’ Owen told her softly, almost mournful as he watched his fingers card through red strands.

She calmed, or in the least, tried too as Owen sat diligently beside her bed. This time, when visiting hours were over, he refused to budge, watching her white knuckle grip hold onto his fingers. Her nurses didn’t argue.

[…]

Owen learnt quickly that Claire liked to scare him. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for and more than he believed. Owen knew she would recover, knew she would be okay - although he had doubted it for a second, knowing reality would eventually have to sink in. She proved his slight doubts wrong. She always did. 

The ventilator was removed in no time, her nurses taking it away cautiously, scared that Claire would relapse. It was a hard road as she progressed from scratchy sounds to tired before her voice sounded normal, warming Owen all over with every word. 

‘You don’t have to stay here, you know?’ Claire offered quietly, book in her lap, nothing else to do as Owen played a game on his phone. 

He shrugged, ‘I don’t have anything else to do’. Owen’s sigh was soft, ‘Masrani Global gave me the all clear to go back to the island but other than that I’m still on standby, just like you, I can’t leave Costa Rica. I’ve been living out of your hotel room since I ditched the recon mission, I have nothing to do and nowhere to be, Claire. Either way I still chose to be here.’ 

She just didn’t want him to be wasting his time sitting beside her hospital bed while hospital grade antibiotics chased an infection from her system. Claire was bored, fingers practically itching to get out of that room and back into the real world. She was just like him, had nothing waiting for her on the other side, but at least it held some semblance of freedom. 

‘You’ve got two days left in here. It’s fine.’ He offered, reminding her quietly that her time was almost up, nurses and doctors convinced that she could continue to heal outside of their supervision. It couldn’t come fast enough, and yet, her time was up before Claire knew it. 

They kept her until mid afternoon, making Claire fidget as she realised daylight was dying. When they managed to break free, Owen didn’t waste time in moving her towards the beach, hospital band still clipped to her wrist, all warnings to take it easy long behind them. 

Claire practically moaned when her toes hit the sand, shoes left in the company issued vehicle Owen had acquired. ‘Now this is what freedom tastes like.’ She sighed happily, turning to Owen with a large grin as the sunset bathed her in orange light. She stood, feet in sand, arms stretched wide and head tilted back, soaking in the fresh air and warm light. ‘What do we do now?’ 

‘You’re the one with freedom.’ Owen laughed, coming to stand beside her, toes burying into sandy depths as the tide chased the shore only inches from them. ‘We take one day at a time, I guess. There’s nothing else really to look forward to.’ Claire hummed, eyes scanning the beach around them. Owen watched her, noticing the way her breath picked up as the sunlight warmed his skin. ‘You okay?’ He asked, concerned, her lungs weren’t completely healed, still a little weak after they gave in altogether. 

Claire nodded, hand reaching for his blindly. ‘Yeah, I just really want to have sex on this beach, but it’s probably not wise.’ Owen couldn’t help the sharp laugh that came from him, whole body participating in his glee as his hand squeezed hers and his heart skipped a beat. 

His eyes followed hers, watching a young family play on the shoreline, children giggling loudly. ‘You know, you have a perfectly good hotel room?’ 

Claire nodded, ‘Yeah, probably better’. She tugged on his hand after a beat, pulling the man back towards his car. She leant into him softly, kissing him as she grinned in the setting sunlight. Claire didn’t know what time would bring them. For now she was happy with the man who dropped everything to be by her side. ‘Hey,’ She stopped him, only seconds from his car, ‘That’s something to look forward to’. Owen raised a brow, ‘The sex’. Her laugh was electric, dancing in the air like the freckles that speckled her cheeks, filling his chest with a light Owen swore he had never known before. 

He risked the chance of loosing her not too long ago, a silver scar sitting on her thigh to remind them of that. She was better now, breathing easier, sighed up for rehabilitation and determined to make her body hers again. She was willing to lend it to his mercy for a little while. Owen could be thankful for that and her newly regained ability to walk across sand, sun kissing her skin, her laughter teasing the air. He didn’t know if it all would be as easy as that moment right there, but he was willing to try it.


	145. #145 - Overheard

She was beginning to enjoy Owen’s company. Several days ago she was happy to have nothing to do with him and now the man had become her lifeline. Karen took the boys home, allowed to leave as Claire and Owen sat in limbo subtly being toyed with by Masrani Global as they waited to have their statements taken. 

In the four days they had been trapped there, Owen managed to migrate from his company paid room to hers. He wasn’t exactly open with what was plaguing his mind. Claire guessed it was the same flash of dinosaur teeth and hot breath on her neck that she kept reliving. She didn’t ask, too busy wondering why he was in her room, with her, when he could have gone anywhere else. Claire kept her worries reserved, holding them close to her chest as he slept beside her. In the depths of the night she gripped his hand tightly, terrified to admit that their ordeal had shaken her more than she thought it should. Owen never mentioned it when he woke, the woman’s body curled around his arm, grip so tight he was losing feeling in his fingers. 

The streets were chaos, if the press weren’t calling their names, locals were spitting at them as they walked. Claire chose to remain within the hotel’s walls. They would eat dinner within the hotel, sitting in the restaurant or ordering room service. They showered quietly before turning in for the night, often lying in the dark until their breathing evened out. 

Sleep wasn’t easy to come by. Claire was timing Owen’s deep breaths when she heard it. Her body went ridged while her thumbs rolled around the other against her stomach. With eyes closed she hoped the sound was a one off, accidental and easily adjusted. Most of all, she hoped Owen didn’t notice. 

It sounded again, a very distinctive feminine moan slipping through the wall to linger above them. Claire squeezed her eyes tight, focusing on her breathing to faux sleep. The bed in the room beside them hit the wall. ‘Are they…?’ Owen asked, slight glee in his voice, body almost jumping upright like a child on Christmas morning. 

Claire shook her head, shaky breath escaping her. ‘Just ignore it.’ The room fell silent, so quiet she could hear him struggling to hold his breath. 

The moan sounded again, louder, more defined. 

‘Well, at least they’re having a good time.’ He sighed, voice lifting just enough that Claire could tell he was smirking. She chose not to respond, eyes still closed. The woman’s sounds only grew, high pitched and climbing as the headboard continued to smack against the wall. She would give anything to not be there right now. Not lying beside Owen, the tension between them growing to the point that she knew they would eventually have to deal with it rather than ignore it. Claire’s problem was that she didn’t know who would break first. He was the one who kissed her that day after everything they had been through. He was the one who didn’t say anything, who jumped right into damage control in Costa Rica, who avoided her all day until he knocked on her door in the middle of the night, barely able to breathe. He had kissed her again, once, softly on the cheek and her forehead as he pulled her into his arms muttering something about her being _safe, alive, well._

She had appeased him then, knowing it wasn’t a time to ask why he was so affectionate at the worst times, her blood simmering low in the pits of her stomach. Someone was going to break and Claire already knew it was her. Their neighbours having sex was only going to be the icing on the cake. 

‘It’s been a while since I’ve had bed moving sex.’ Owen hummed, reflection in his tone still tinged with mirth. At least he was amused, while Claire laid there temperature rising across her skin as she begged for it all to end. ‘Forms good,’ He continued. 

Owen baffled her, he was a man of few words where it counted, but there were times where he speckled the planet with statements at the most inconvenient of times. He was a little like Gray in that sense, at least what she had learnt of her nephew, willing to spit out every thought in his head whether it was welcome or not. He ran a commentary on the people in the other room, almost scoring them as he listened in. Claire hadn’t heard him talk such nonsense. Owen was straightforward, business, a little jokey but not running commentary.

She could hear the sound of skin slapping skin, their neighbours holding nothing back as they went at it seemingly unaware that other people were surrounding them, separated by paper thin walls. The man groaned, then nothing. Owen was silent, waiting one beat, then two before he sighed loudly. ‘I guess they’re done.’ She felt his shoulders beside her shrug as he sighed again, a little disgruntled. ‘ _I_ at least would have let you finish.’ His finger tapped her thigh almost causing Claire’s body to jump right off the bed as she felt her skin burn not only at his touch but at his words. She scoffed quietly, the only noise she could manage to make. ‘What? I would.’ He seemed offended, pillow rustling as he turned his head to hers in the dark. ‘You’d be louder than that, too, wouldn’t you?’ She could almost see him wink, her skin continuing to burn as she felt her cheeks redden. 

‘I don’t even think these headboards can move that far.’ He hummed to himself, pushing up onto his knees, hands gripping the top of the headboard. Without another word Owen pulled back before pushing it forward with slight force. Wood hit plaster, thunking at contact. ‘What are you doing?’ Claire hissed, pulling herself away from him to better catch the man’s form in the dark. 

Owen chuckled quietly, ‘Giving them a run for their money. Wanna join in?’ Moonlight lit his face just enough for her suspicions to be true. Light chased the length of his forearms, muscles bulging in his bicep as he pulled on the headboard a second time. ‘Stop!’ She hissed, cheeks burning red. Owen tilted his head towards her, shoulders flexing as he did it again, this time with a deep grunt from the pits of his throat. If Claire didn’t think she was in trouble before, she was now. 

It was hard to deny the slow ache building in the pit of her stomach, familiar and unwelcome as the bed shifted around her, springs squeaking ever so slightly as he moved. 

‘What?’ He laughed, ‘They’re just doing to curl up and go to sleep now and leave us hanging. Doesn’t seem fair to me.’ He hit the wall a third time, loud groan following it as Claire sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. ‘Seems too loud to me,’ He mused, pulling back for a second to study the headboard in the dark. ‘Couldn’t have been doing it that way.’ He reached for her quietly, hand finding her bicep as his large fingers curled around the thin muscle there. ‘I need your help.’ 

‘Oh no, no, no.’ Claire shook her head, resisting the tug of his hand a little. Curiosity got the better of her, and the part of her mind that had already given in to the itch in her belly. What was the worst that was going to happen? She would be more frustrated than she already was? He was too scared to kiss her again after the incident, wasn’t like he was going to do it now as he intended to mock their wall sharing neighbours. 

‘It’ll be quick, I swear - ’ His voice was quiet, almost tender as he moved for her, letting Claire sit in front of him before he started directing her. ‘ - and I never say that.’ He was going for flirtatiousand laying it on a little thick which wasn’t helping the screaming alarm in the back of her head telling Claire to step away. Owen didn’t go for coy, he tugged on her hips, pulling Claire from sitting to lying beneath him, squeak escaping her as she looked up at his t-shirt dangling over her face. ‘Can you reach the headboard?’ He asked, fingers soft on her elbow clearly giving her choice in what she did rather than let him position her like a doll. She could reach back, touching it with some movement in her joints.

‘You know, if you’re uncomfortable you just have to tell me.’ He looked down at her, their faces suddenly too close as Claire caught her breath. She only shook her head, teeth sinking into her bottom lip nervously. 

‘No, I’m curious now.’ Her laugh was barely there, coated in her nerves as Owen shifted above her. He remained on his knees, bracketed by hers, an hand still clutching the top of her headboard as her fingers graced it delicately, almost scared of it. 

‘You know, I didn’t take you as shy in the bedroom.’ He admitted quietly, all jeer gone from his voice, words sincere. Owen rolled his hips without touching her, his free hand pushing on her leg to signify a thrust as he encouraged Claire to force her strength against the headboard. The sound wasn’t as harsh as it had been when it was him alone, and yet a little too quiet to radiate through the wall. 

‘I’m not.’ She admitted, catching the way his chin dropped to look at her. She wiggled, trying to break the tension and pull away from him. Something in Owen’s head snapped, his hand catching her wrist to tug her back to him. Claire hummed, body settling as she looked up at him with expectation. 

A hand found the curve of her hip, following the line of her body until his thumb hit her breast. Claire couldn’t help the small shiver that chased down her spine, her eyes on the man’s face drawn in concentration as he watched his hand glide up her side. He did it again, this time catching the fabric of her shirt, revealing soft skin under warm cotton. 

Her chest stuttered, breath breaking from her lungs in short spurts as she watched the man above her intensely. When he didn’t move beyond the hand on her hip, Claire placed hers on his, giving a slight squeeze and tug to draw him back to the task at hand. Instinctively, Owen moved his hips pushing against hers roughly and forcing her body to move as the force spiralled up her arm. The movement played exactly how Owen wanted it, her strength and his semi concentrated on hitting the headboard to the wall. 

She moaned loudly, sound rolling from her throat low and long with ‘ _oh god_ ’ attached to it. Owen froze, head snapping down towards hers to catch the mirth on her cheeks. She did it again, arching her back as she hooked her leg over his thigh. Someone other than them knocked on the wall; the neighbours clearly disgruntled. It only spurred Claire on, laughter bubbling from her throat for a minute before she managed to break into cries of ecstasy, over the top and unabashed as her string of _oh, oh, oh’s_ mismatched the rhythm of her hand pounding on the headboard. 

He could feel her breath on his chest as she panted, laughing at herself quietly, vengeance received for their unnecessary hearing of the neighbours sex show. ‘Oh, you’re _bad_.’ Owen chuckled, watching the lines of her face in the dark as she tried to catch her breath around girlish giggles.

‘You have no idea.’ She laughed back, arms rising to lock around his neck. She caught the confusion on his face for a second before their lips collided, Owen settling above her as his shoulders relaxed. Claire pulled away, breath caught as her chest rose, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He watched her, sensing a quip on her tongue but didn’t wait for it to be set free. He caught her lips instead, hungry for the feel of her after denying it for the past few days. 

‘Why don’t we cause a racket for real?’ He asked, pulling away from her barely, lips still touching as he smirked. All it took was for Claire to nod, Owen rolling his hips against hers as a soft noise fell from her lips. 

‘Much better idea.’ 


	146. #146 - Covert Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn: "quit staring! they'll notice us!"   
> from five-word prompts: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/155987216069/five-word-prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I don’t usually join in on the on-island-secret-relationship fics for reasons but this kind of called for that? and I couldn’t really think of anything entertaining enough to pull it off in any other way.

The music was soft, barely there behind the sound of voices and glasses intermittently toasting. It was the lavish sort of love affair with corporate wine and dining's Owen tried to keep on the down low. He wasn’t really needed there. Sure, he added to the conversation and the chances of money being thrown his way afterward was high. But, if he turned down the invitation no one would miss him. Where was the fun in that. He sat at home, wallowing in beer and motor oil most days of the week, an excuse to stand around in something a little more formal was unwelcome but came with sweet reward.

Secretly, he was there for _her._ Not because she wanted him there but because there was nothing better than pushing all of Claire Dearing’s buttons in a public space where she couldn’t do much about it. He didn’t usually approach her. Instead, Owen Grady kept his distance, watching the curve of her hip from across the room, or the way her smile changed depending on who she talked to. There was no reason for the investment party other than they liked to do it to torture themselves. Three to four times a year, rich somebodies stumbled onto the island to rub shoulders with Claire as she robbed their bank cheques with an exquisite smile. Often times, they gave them a private tour, leading the already drunk group through the nursery and labs, for kicks, taking the worst ones into the T-Rex observation deck. 

Owen only had eyes for Claire, grinning at her over his glass or past the shoulder of whomever he was talking to. Eventually, like always, she grew tired of it. He felt his heart leap when she politely excused herself from the very large man who’d been occupying her attention for a good fifteen minutes or so. There was murder in her eyes and determination in her step as she crossed the room, her shoulder hitting his roughly as she stopped, arms leaning against the bar. 

‘Quit staring!’ Claire hissed. ‘They’ll notice us!’ If there was one thing Owen had learnt about Claire; it was that she was paranoid. He chuckled, sound rumbling deep in his chest as he knocked his shoulder against hers. 

‘What’s there to notice?’ He asked, leaning in a little closer. Claire only turned to him sharply, glaring so ferociously her eyes had been reduced to small slits. ‘I was thinkin’,’ he drawled, ‘That maybe you could show me that _thing_ now?’ 

‘Ohh,’ Claire sighed, watching him with a particular spark in her eye. ‘That _thing.’_ Owen grinned, the smile sliding up his face as easily as the cheshire cat as he nodded along with her drawn out syllables. Her hand found his thigh, sliding up the thick length of muscle as she turned away. ‘My office. Five minutes.’ She pulled away from him then, turning in a glamorous swish of black silk and leaving only the sweetest smell of her perfume. 

Five minutes was suffocating, Owen’s blood already boiling under his skin as his fingers started to twitch with every passing second. He did as he was told, knowing if he turned up so much as thirty seconds early she would rather lecture him on being caught rather than what they had planned. 

Owen knocked on her office door, softly and swiftly, waiting half a second before it pulled open and a slender hand yanked him inside. She was a flash of red hair, pale skin and black dress, so much so that Owen could barely focus on the minute details of her. He hadn’t seen her up close all night, apart from their moment at the bar and he was starting to question how much of it all he would remember. Everything with Claire was about savouring it for later. Owen never knew when the next time would be. He played into hope, toying with her, pushing her buttons, and whispering filthy things against her cheek when others were out of ear shot. He tried to play his cards as best he could and so far Owen was on a winning streak. 

Her mouth was hot against his, fingers strong and frantic as she pushed and pulled at his clothes. Claire’s breath was already notched in the middle of her throat, causing her to pant softly, sound a little pitched as his mouth latched to her neck. ‘Careful, careful, careful.’ She muttered quietly, teeth locked to his earlobe as his rough hands tugged at her dress. Gentle fingers joined his, almost half the size of his calloused digits, assisting in the urgent crinkling of her dress. Instead, she pulled it up slowly, her fingers locked in his, eyes caught as she bit her lip. ‘Sometimes, Mr Grady, you have to be _soft_.’ He only grunted, smirking as he did so. 

‘I ain’t anything near soft.’ He retorted, hands sliding around her ass, grasping tightly before landing her with a swift smack. Claire jumped, shock on her face twisting into pure lust as she purred. 

‘I knew what I signed up for.’ To say they had intended to fuck frantically in his office, or hers, or any other secluded yet semi accessible place, would be a lie. Neither of them planned it. Claire was happy to live in a world where she openly detested him, while he continued to make her blush. Maybe Owen planned it. Just a little bit. Never did he think it would actually happen. The two of them hissing at each other between kisses as she fought him, refusing to back down even as the whimpers started to escape her. 

They refused to accept it. Not beyond continuing to collide in dark offices and parking lots, steaming the windows of her car or breaking furniture in his wreck of a bungalow. Neither knew how it moved to their homes, but understood it was a rarity. They stuck to parties and breaks in meetings, all around places where people would eventually notice they were missing. 

She gasped when he turned them, shoving her back against the wall with a slight thud as she finally got his hips free from synthetic cotton. ‘I don’t think I can let you go back to that investor knowing you have no underwear on.’ Owen grunted, his palms rubbing circles across her thighs. 

Claire did what she could to not roll her eyes, Owen lifting her off her feet as she sighed. ‘Have you see this dress?’ She scraped her nails across the back of his neck, lips pressed to his as he chased her for a kiss. He grunted again. Owen _had_ seen her dress, like every other man there, and he was the only one able to make a move. ‘Plus, you and I both know that you’re going to make this whole night worth my time and tomorrow morning he’ll have donated a an even half a million to fund the new asset in the hopes of seeing _me_ again.’ 

‘No shop talk.’ He grumbled before catching her lips effectively hushing her as jealousy flared in his chest. Owen was still trying to figure out if the thoughts in his head and the feeling in his chest was enough to commit to her, to inquire ever so gently if they could make it a permanent thing; strings attached and everything, that maybe he could confess it to more than just Barry and keep Claire one-hundred per cent to himself. Where he knew the lack of underwear was purely for the aesthetic of her dress, Owen also knew part of it was for him that there had to be a thrill in knowing he would discover it later and act accordingly. She knew how to keep him on his toes, regardless and Owen wasn’t sure he wanted to let that go. 

She nodded softly, coyly obedient, which wasn’t Claire. ‘I’ll shut up, you; fuck me.’Maybe he was the obedient one, the woman lulling him into a false sense of control as he did exactly what she requested and all without running her dress. 


	147. #147 - Long Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: FaceTiming Owen and Claire
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: “actually … I just miss you”

 

Face down on the boardroom’s large table, her phone buzzed. Claire glared at it with the familiar annoyance that came with the sudden reminder that she had forgotten to switch it off. It had to be Owen. Amongst countless other reasons why her phone would be making noises, the fact that she was two weeks into a settlement was enough of a reason that Owen was the only one lighting up her phone in the first thirty minutes of an 8am meeting. 

Her phone buzzed a second time, quickly followed by a third several minutes later. When it sounded a fourth time, device rattling against wood obnoxiously, Claire pulled it into her lap. All eyes of the full room were on her as she sank into her chair, offering a quiet apology as she gripped her phone between her hands. _‘_ Mon mari’ she offered the group with a little shrug half hoping a few would laugh it off. Claire had never known the French for her sense of humour. 

She avoided checking her messages for what felt like an eternity, allowing the meeting to get underway before she flipped the device in her hands and pressed softly on the home key. Four messages; all from Owen. The heat rushed to Claire’s cheeks almost immediately, the second she opened the texts. Instinctively she locked the screen, dropping the device to her lap to conceal what she had seen as Claire stared dumbly at the space in front of her. It took a second to recover, opening the message again to check that Owen in fact _had_ sent words on how much he was missing her as he was climbing into bed; along with visual aid. 

It was the image that made her cheeks burn red, Claire mentally cursing her pale skin as she felt the way her skin stung. It was tame in comparison to the things he had sent on other occasions, which was to say this wasn’t the first time Owen had sent her pictures of his erection. Clad in black boxer briefs Owen could still make her ache with want even when there was five-and-a-half-thousand miles between them. He lived for it, making her squirm without actually getting to see it. If Owen could live his whole life pushing her to the edge and letting her dangle from it; he would die happy. He hated it when she had to travel for work, in the same way little boys hated being denied ice-cream. There was no real anger, just a desperate longing growing in their minds and stomachs as they wandered past the ice-cream parlour. 

He tried is best, at least, to have fun with it. Claire was never into the whole sending raunchy pictures back and fourth. She would play his games in text messages and phone calls, but he wasn’t getting a picture of her in her lingerie unless he took it himself. Where she saw the benefits of sending him such things, Claire preferred to enjoy it in person rather than overseas. 

Owen had no control. Even though she was sure he was fast asleep in their bed back home in San Diego, the dog probably curled at his feet, Claire could practically feel his hot breath against her neck and hear his chuckle in her ear. He might as well have been in the same room, teasing her in front of all those people. She forced her best _concentrated_ trying to keep her mind in the meetings she had planned for the whole day. 

It wasn’t until she got home, breaking free into her hotel room, shoes kicked off buy the door that Claire relaxed. She barely undressed from her day before her phone was plugged in to charge, all while dialling Owen. He didn’t answer. Claire’s eyes flicked to the time, it was only a few minutes after 9am at home, Owen should have been awake. She called again. He picked up the second time, her screen changing from call waiting to her bedroom, familiar sheets and Owen - her husband - scrubbing his left hand over his face. 

‘About time,’ She huffed at him playfully, sighing to her self softly as the familiarity of _home_ washed over her. She did miss it, as much as she missed him, despite his ridiculous antics. Owen grunted, still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he shifted in their bed, trying to get comfortable and trying to wake up.

‘Hey, darlin’,’ He drawled, full blown grin cracking across his cheeks despite the tired sound of his words. 

Claire clicked her tongue, head shaking as she took in the sight of him. Of course he was still asleep when he called her, of course he just woke casually, a little grumpy, shirtless and undoubtedly warm in their bed. Sure, he might have been a little lonely but she was annoyed that he was home when she couldn’t be. That he could work her up with the slightest of messages and an image to follow and leave her aching to be _home_ all day. ‘Oh you do not get to _“hey, darlin’”_ me.’ She laughed, watching as the man acted sheepish, blinking innocent eyes at her through their FaceTime. ‘What were you doing, sending me pictures in the middle of a meeting?’ She asked, receiving Owen’s low ‘ _well …’_ before she told him not to bother answering. 

‘That shower head not treating you well?’ He chuckled, teasing her as her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes grew murderous. If she could, Claire would have killed him.

‘You’re intolerable.’ She huffed, trying to ignore the easy warmth that filled her at the simple sight and sound of her husband. 

Owen hummed, agreeing with her teasingly. ‘Actually … I just miss you.’ He spat all his words out at once almost too quietly like the first time he told her he loved her, accidentally and yet barely there. Owen wasn’t the type for _feelings_ Karen liked to tease. Where Claire knew she was well loved, the man she married didn’t go out of his way to profess - with words - whatever he was thinking; beyond sex. Admitting to missing her was _huge_. She knew he didn’t like her going away for long periods of time, mostly because he was jealous, because _he_ wanted to take her to Paris, not her employers several times a year. ‘I mean, it was kind of fun at first, a few days to myself. But, I’m bored as shit, Claire and I hate to admit it but living in this house without you isn’t fun.’ She heard the rattle of the dog’s collar, clearly sitting at the end of the bed, her head turning at her master’s words as if to question his honesty. 

‘Four more days,’ her voice softened. ‘Then you’ll be wishing I was gone again.’ Owen hummed, voice low, noncommittal. He was distracted already, his thoughts gone from the conversation. ‘But maybe not. I had revenge on my mind during lunch, managed to wander into Bordelle …’ She trailed off, eyes not watching him completely as she played coy knowing all too well that Owen’s interest would spark at the name of the lingerie brand. 

He grunted, body twitching as his eyes grew dark. ‘Do I get a sneak peak?’ He asked eagerly, practically bolting up in their bed, his focus completely on the small device in his hands. Claire hummed, slim finger tapping her chin as she teased him before the hand trailed to the buttons of her blouse and Owen learnt teasing her at work would always end well for him. 

 


	148. #148 - Charlie and Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is a little sad and Charlie wears Owen's massive shirts

He dropped his weight on each step heavily, feeling the movement of his hips as he hummed to himself. Charlie was upstairs, clean from her bath and content to play before he fetched her to help him make dinner. 

He was set on standing in front of the fridge for twenty minutes, ready to contemplate the ins and outs of every meal option available to him before settling in the best.

Owen didn’t make it to the kitchen, instead a figure in the sitting room caught his attention, drawing the man towards it. ‘You’re home early.’ He frowned, looking at his wife, sitting on the couch, feet tucked underneath her, work clothes on and home two hours earlier than expected. 

She was staring at blank space, a spot on the wall holding her gaze until she snapped out of it. Claire only hummed. 

‘Everything okay?’ He asked as Charlie squealed upstairs, making the man cringe. He didn't exactly want his wife to discover that he let their three-year-old jump on the bed unsupervised let alone, at all. 

Claire nodded softly before her chin crinkled, bottom lip wobbling but refusing to let tears fall. ‘I got my period.’ She scrunched up her nose, reigning in the emotion that was threatening to fall. 

‘No baby?’ He asked with a slight pout, already aware of the answer. She asked almost a year ago, startling the man who had watched her flounder for a connection with the child they already had. Owen didn’t think they were ready, let alone fit to raise two kids. He didn’t want to say it, but he didn't trust that she wouldn't check out on him again. It was something Claire wanted, a desperate plea to prove to herself that she could connect with an infant after wasting the valuable years of her daughter's life. Owen agreed to scrap the contraceptives. 

It took four months to get a positive result on a store bought pregnancy test - something that occupied too much space in their bathroom cupboards now. It lasted a whole four weeks before she miscarried, the pain enough on her face for Owen to realise she was serious about the whole thing, not just giving Charlie a sibling. Nothing stuck after that and with each month that passed and no luck, he watched his wife become a little more reserved. 

She nodded softly, chin wobbling as her thumb and forefinger pulled at her lip. ‘No baby,’ her quiet voice broke, ‘I don’t know how much longer I can do this.’ They weren't even being serious about it, there was no tracking her ovulation, or injections of any kind, they hadn’t gone to see a specialist, only mentioned in passing to their GP that they were trying. 

‘Maybe it's time to book a few appointments.’ He offered softly, bending to kiss her cheek as he pulled her up to her feet. She only nodded in silent defeat as she let him pull her towards the laundry, Owen stripping Claire of her work clothes before replacing them with fresh pyjamas. 

He shooed her back to the couch with an affectionate kiss to the cheek, departing at the stairs to seek out their rambunctious child. He was back in seconds, Charlie giggling in his arms, her hair still wet, skin warm and pink. 

He deposited her right beside Claire, the girl snuggling in beside her immediately as she greeted her mother with drooping eyes. He didn’t know how the girl worked, still, after three years. She ran like her batteries would never tire then crashed without warning. 

‘Hi baby,’ Claire’s voice was soft, reaching for the girl before her feet managed to hit the couch, pulling her into her chest as the girl moved to settle. ‘What _are_ you wearing?’ She asked on a soft hum, pulling at the pools of fabric around Charlie’s bare legs. 

She giggled. ‘Daddy’s shirt. They’s my PJs now.’ Claire hummed, of course. She, a child who wore a size three, was practically outmatched by her father’s XXL shirt. Claire only squeezed her closer burying her nose somewhere between Charlie’s damp hair, fresh with the smell of baby shampoo, and what felt like miles of Owen’s shirt. 

‘Smart move,’ Claire hummed. 

She hadn’t even noticed that he disappeared until he returned, slipping a heat pack between Claire’s back and the couch, a book in his hand passed to Charlie and a bottle on the coffee table with a warning that it was too hot as the child eyed it eagerly, small fingers in her mouth. 

‘No kitchen hand duties tonight,’ he told Charlie, kissing her cheek. ‘I have a better job, watch your mother and make sure she feels better.’ Charlie turned her small head, looking from her father to her mother with inquisitive blue eyes before settling them on Claire, her father’s request readily accepted. 

‘You feel ‘ucky?’ She asked, fingers still in her mouth. 

Claire pried Charlie’s hand away from her face as she hummed. ‘Just a little sad, baby. But you smell so good, how can I be sad?’ She tickled Charlie’s side, making the girl squeak and squirm before she ceased little girl rolling her head onto her mother’s shoulder. Charlie still scared the wits out of her, a fear that had never ceased since the girl was an infant. They never bonded, not properly. Now that the girl was growing older, infancy moving into toddlerhood and eventually her school years, Charlie started to seek her mother out. She put too much trust into a woman who had only proved to disappoint her. It still felt almost unnatural to curl up with Charlie on the couch, book in hand, little girl ready for bed. 

She had listened to Owen, for so many nights, rock the small child or coerce her into taking her bottle, there were nights where he never came back from the nursery and somewhere she could hear him on the baby monitor. Claire worked, almost ignoring the fact that they had a child, while Owen dealt with her bedtime routine. It was surreal, that three years later she would be taking part. 

Charlie reached for the bottle that was taunting her on the coffee table, Claire stopping her before her fingers graced the plastic. The little girl huffed. ‘Owen?’ Claire called over her shoulder, trying not to raise her voice too loud next to her child’s head, but enough that he could hear her, wherever he was. She heard his hum as Charlie placed the book in her hands, grunting a little when Claire didn’t start opening the pages. ‘Has she eaten?’ Her question followed the sound of her husband’s acknowledgement. ‘More than whatever was left at the zoo cafeteria?’ 

‘Sunil and Neysa were force feeding her leftovers from the other night. And as we well know, she’ll eat anything they put in front of her.’ Owen chuckled, back in the room again as he tested the temperature of the milk he had warmed. ‘You know the rules - ’ he hummed, extending the bottle to the child who reached for it eagerly. ‘ - Bottle, book, and bed.’ Charlie nodded, bottle in her mouth the second she had it in her hands, little body sinking further into the couch beside her mother. ‘Mom’s gonna do it tonight.’ He told the girl, watching her slow nod as her eyes dragged towards her mother and then the book. 

One hand held her bottle while the other played with her mother’s fingers, trying to encourage the woman to open the pages while her parents talked over her head. ‘You comfy?’ Claire asked, cheek to soft strawberry hair. Charlie nodded, the book opening in front of her as Claire began the adventures from The Faraway Tree. 

It was their thing. One specific book that Owen refused to touch. Charlie was enamoured which was exactly what he wanted, something she _had_ to go to Claire for, strengthening a bond the woman thought would never be there. To see the glee on his daughter’s face, as well as his wife, was all Owen wanted in life, the two of them curled up: rain, hail, or shine enjoying the comfort they found in the other. 

Charlie was asleep in a heartbeat, only a handful of chapters in and her bottle not entirely finished.She was curled into her mother’s chest, hand on the necklace Claire wore as the woman watched her breathing for a second, trying to calculate how to get them off the couch without waking the toddler. She worried for a second, that they would remain stuck there until Owen wandered into the room, or Charlie woke herself. 

It was easy enough, once Claire moved, girl heavy in her arms grumbling softly but not waking at all. Owen met her at the stairs, smiling softly at his sleeping child before quietly asking Claire if she wanted him to take her. The stairs were hard to navigate with a sleeping toddler, especially when Claire didn’t do it often. 

She shook her head softly, moving for the stairs with Owen’s hand on the small of her back. He centred her as they climbed until they were in the clear on the landing, Owen breaking away to get ready for bed while Claire tucked Charlie in. 

‘So,’ Claire began, voice still quite despite the girl sleeping down the hall. ‘Why does she get one of your t-shirts to sleep in, and I don’t?’ She asked, leaning on the bathroom doorframe as she watched him brush his teeth. 

Owen stopped brushing, ‘you never give ‘em back’. He spat, rinsing his toothbrush and mouth. She remained where she was as he approached her, his hands falling to her hips as he kissed her softly, smile wide despite his tired eyes. ‘She asked.’ He shrugged playfully, his fingers playing with the hem of her sleep shirt, the fabric rising slowly. 

‘Consider this me asking,’ she laughed softly, knowing very well that she could help herself to his clothes whenever she pleased. Owen was powerless to stop her. He kissed her a second time, lips lingering on hers for a minute longer before he pulled her shirt up and over her head, Claire lifting her arms without a fight. 

He grinned at her, shirtless, humming to himself softly before he pulled the shirt he was wearing, over his head and pulled it over hers. ‘Better?’ He asked, small woman swimming in his clothing just as their child did. Claire pulled the fabric up to her nose and inhaled, eyes closed before humming in agreement. 

‘Much better.’ It was like putting a balm on a burn, Claire instantly soothed by the new layer on her skin. It almost did as much as Charlie had, distracting her from the cramps in her abdomen as she went about getting ready for bed before crawling in beside her husband. She locked her fingers with his, rolling her index over the still new wedding band on his hand. ‘It’s going to happen,’ she promised the quiet air of their bedroom sighing with content as her body still hummed from her contact with Charlie, happy for the connection. 

‘Eventually,’ he hummed in agreement, kissing the top of her head. ‘But, for what we currently have, it’s pretty good, right?’ 

She tilted her head back to look at him, smile soft on her cheeks. ‘We didn’t start off on the best of terms, but I’m _happy_. I love her so much, Owen, it scares me. Who knew sticking together for survival would get us this far.’ She raised their hands, still joined, metal on their fingers shining. 

Owen chuckled, chest vibrating as he squeezed her closer. ‘Hate to break it to you, but I _so_ knew.’ He teased, kissing her cheek as she rolled her eyes, head settling on his chest again before he turned out the light.

* * *

 

Don't forget the [C&E index](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/143039456119/here-you-can-find-all-my-published-pieces-for-the) incase you've missed any of these babies.


	149. #149 - Elliot and Private Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: You should do a fic of small and innocent Elliot accidentally walking into Claire and Owen's "private moment" (if that alright with you)

 

‘She’s out for the count,’ Claire announced, entering the room slightly out of breath. She stopped in front of him, practically squirming on the spot. 

Owen hummed, watching her with a raised brow and slight concern. Claire tugged at the dress she wore, raising the hem over her knees before her hand slipped beneath the fabric. 

‘Charlie’s at a playdate for the next,’ her eyes jumped to the clock in the kitchen, ‘hour’. Before he could truly grasp what she was trying to hint at, Claire was shimming her underwear down her legs and unceremoniously throwing them at him. He put Charlie’s school newsletter aside, body sinking into the couch as he watched her, smirk on his lips. 

She lowered herself to his lap, sinking just as he did, her hands on his shoulders as her lips touched his skin gently at first, before devouring him whole. Claire wasn’t exactly impatient when it came to sex, but more demanding, ready to take control of the situation whether he was ready to participate or not. Owen never complained, rather sat there winded while his wife took the reigns. 

‘Are you back on the FSH and I didn’t know?’ He asked, slight crinkle in his brow, curious as to what at sparked her libido. Although dominating, Claire wasn’t crazed for sex. She wasn’t the one to throw her clothes about the house in desperate need to get them off. That was his job; the insatiable one. There had been a period, while trying to conceive Elliot, where the hormones Claire was on spun her through a whirlwind of mood swings. Where he didn’t like to see his wife suffering, Owen couldn’t help but like the occasional spike in their sex life. Mostly, it was nowhere new fun and games, Claire emotionally bereft more than the quietly happy she had been before they started. 

She shook her head, smiling as her lips nipped at his neck. ‘Owen,’ her voice was low, dry with the same lust that was starting to block his throat. ‘When was the last time we had sex?’ He had to think about it which was answer enough for Claire, the woman rolling her hips against his eliciting a moan from her husband. 

Charlie never interfered with their love life. She slept when she was supposed to and woke on cue, she never cried when they left her with her grandparents, and preferred the five minutes alone they gave her while Owen shoved Claire up against the bathroom wall. Elliot, however, was a little different. If medically able, the two-year-old would choose to attach herself to her mother’s hip.From birth, she was constantly at her mother’s side, Claire only putting her down if she strictly _had_ to. Now it was rare that his wife showered, worked or slept alone. In fact, he was starting to forget what Claire looked like without Elliot hiding behind her legs. Where Charlie eagerly accepted sleepovers at her grandparents, Elliot wasn’t as easily convinced. The last time Owen could remember them being _alone_ long enough to _talk_ let alone _have sex_ had been months ago. 

He stopped frowning at her, dip between his eyebrows smoothing out as his hand dropped to her thigh and started to slide upwards, slipping under the fabric of her dress. She chuckled against his ear, breath warm on his skin as her teeth sunk into his earlobe. ‘Not here,’ she purred, Owen’s large hand squeezing her inner thigh with the eagerness of a thirsty man finally offered water. Claire pushed at his shoulder, trying to pull herself away as Owen snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her back to him. ‘Seriously Owen, my kids eat their cheerio’s on this couch.’

His chuckle sounded more like a grumble as Owen grunted against her neck. It took him a second to find the strength, the man not as young as he had once been, as he lifted her from the couch in one go, her legs wrapped around his waist. 

Her back touched the wall more than it should have as Owen staggered up the stairs, barely able to contain himself. She giggled, laughter bubbling from her throat as her husband struggled, refusing to let her go as his grasp tightened on her ass. 

‘You’re going to wake her.’ Owen warned, propping her against the hallway wall, as his hand clamped over her mouth. Claire only bit at his fingers, grinning as she purred. Her lips tried to catch his as the man turned his head, throwing a cautionary look in the direction of Elliot’s room. Her door was closed, no sound or sight of the child, calming the man’s worries enough to turn his attention back to his wife. 

Claire grinned, expression vibrant as she looked at him, eyes almost sparkling in the light. He kissed her gently, the sort of kiss they shared at dinners or over their kids’ heads. A simple, easy, loving, peck to her lips. He grunted, legs struggling to move the last few feet it took to enter their room. Claire took care of the door as they passed the threshold, pushing it until it clicked in place. He didn’t let her go until his knees hit the edge of their bed, Owen unceremoniously dropping his wife before climbing above her, lips moving to muffle her laughter. 

His hand was back on her thigh, unrelenting and nowhere near shy. A large callous thumb found her clit, circling the tissue there before giving it a swift flick. The game chased out of her eyes, glee turning to lust as the blue of her irises melted into black. Owen grinned, smile wicked on his cheeks as he did it again. His skin jumped, stomach tensing as he felt her nimble fingers shake, knuckles tapping against his abdomen, desperately trying to untangle his belt. The metal clanked before fabric hissed, leather pulled free and tossed to the floor. 

She was panting and he had barely touched her, man completely in awe of his wife. He couldn’t believe that time had passed and he hadn’t touched her, chased her to the edge and saw her fly over. He knew Claire would attest, he _had_ touched her, he was always _touching_ her. It didn’t matter if they were at a school meeting or lunch with friends, his hand always found her thigh a little too high and took hold, fingers reacquainting with her sensitive places when she couldn’t do a thing about it. 

Claire quivered, grunting to herself in slight frustration as she pushed his pants off his hips and reached between his thighs. He could waste time all he wanted, peppering innocent kisses on her stomach but Claire wasn’t going to do the same. She knew their daughter, unlike her sister, was bound to wake from her nap earlier than expected and seek them out. Time was a precious commodity with a toddler down the hall. 

She tried to flip them to take control of their time but Owen’s hands held her down, his grip tight on her hips. He only grinned when she huffed, lips smirking against her hip bone as his hands followed the curves of her body, fabric of her dress following his movements.

‘Hi,’ he grinned, kissing her nose softly as they came face to face, Claire pulling her dress over her head. She barely managed to whisper his greeting back as the man buried his head against her neck. Claire couldn’t help the breathy gasp that escaped her, nails clawing at his skin as her husband found the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Claire whimpered, the sound barely there and needy as she rolled her hips against his, her knees tapping against his ribs. Owen didn’t need her to beg twice, man kissing the cut of her jaw as his lips trailed south, stopping at her collar bone before descending to the curve of her breast. She had to whimper again, face drawn in impatience before her husband smiled tenderly lips dropping to a rosy nipple before his hand squeeze her hip, the other guiding himself into her. 

She barely caught the sound around the hiss that slipped from her, gasp raw in her throat as her husband grunted. It was faint, but there, enough that she knew she hadn’t imagined it. Claire rolled her head, eyes watching the bedroom door just as she saw the handle move. 

Her hand flew to Owen’s mouth, clamping a tight hold as she shushed him, the man not ceasing the rhythm he had started. She had to squint to focus, witnessing the handle wiggle again as the tension in her gut begged to be released. She had to hold her breath to hear it, Elliot’s voice on the other side of the door softly sniffling for her mother. ‘Elliot,’ she whispered, panic flaring in her eye as a hand smacked at Owen’s shoulder. 

‘She can’t reach the door handle, it’s fine.’ Owen hummed, chuckling softly as he returned his mouth to her breast. Unable to control the small noise that fell from her, Claire shook her head, hand persistent on his shoulder. 

‘Charlie taught her how to use to the chair to reach … how do you think she got out of her room?’He only ignored her, grunting in response as his kisses tried to lull her back to him. Claire was lost, her eyes watching the door with worry, half wondering if he was right. It only took another minute before the door swung open, Elliot falling to the floor when it gave way, the chair she was teetering on, collapsing, her screams rattling the whole neighbourhood. Claire swore, pushing her husband off her as he whined, mostly startled by the sudden commotion his wife tried to warn him about. 

Claire pulled her dress back over her head, swooping her daughter up in a heartbeat as she cradled the little girl to her chest. Owen could help the frown, Elliot’s head tucked against her mother’s neck, where he had been happily enjoying himself minutes earlier. 

As per usual, Elliot was immediately soothed the second her mother scooped her up. The world’s issues seemed to melt away as the child dropped her head to her mother’s shoulder and glared at the man who had taken her away. 

The adults didn’t share any words and barely any looks as Claire kissed her baby’s head and turned away. There was no doubt, to Owen, that the fun Claire had started was over. Elliot was awake not thirty minutes into her scheduled nap and would demand her mother lie with her. 

‘What are you doing out of bed, baby?’ Claire’s voice drifted down the hall with Elliot’s sniffles. Her answer bouncing back.

‘I miss you.’ She muttered, fingers in her mouth in an effort to self soothe as her blue eyes tried to play innocent. To a toddler, solving their issues was easy enough. Elliot was sure all her problems would be answered with her sights set on her mother and a cuddle. So far, she hadn’t been wrong. 

‘Okay, back to nap time.’ Claire sung softly, kissing Elliot’s blonde hair. 

Sitting in her crib, Elliot looked up at her mother with striking blue eyes, the very same that never failed to melt her. ’Cuddle me?’ She asked, arms raised above her head, blanket tucked under her arm. Claire shook her head with a soft sigh, body still humming with her husband’s touch. It took all her strength not to squirm on the spot or run from the room in search of the release Owen was sure to give her. 

‘No, Elie, baby, you have to sleep on your own.’ Claire shook her head again, leaning in to kiss her daughter’s head. It was only recently that they had taken the bars off her crib, leaving the little girl with the comfort of her baby bed with the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Claire didn’t know if she was ready for the upgrade, ‘ _big girl bed’_ ordered and ready to be delivered the following week. 

The girl refused to lie down, just as her mother refused to leave the room until she did. ‘What was daddy doing?’ She asked innocently, head tilted as her index finger flicked at her lip. Claire sighed, whole body moving with it as she gave in, telling her daughter to shuffle over as she squeezed her body into the crib. 

‘Nothing, baby.’ Claire tried to pacify Elliot, hoping the answer was enough. It wasn’t. Elliot opened her young mouth a second time, statement falling from it about her father’s position above her mother. ‘We were about to take a nap, just like you _should_ be doing.’ She bopped the girl on the nose, refusing to take another word of it as she dug Elliot’s pacifier out from the girls blanket and handed it to the child. 

Owen checked in on them no less than fifteen minutes later, Elliot splayed across her mother’s chest, holding his wife down. The girl, stubbornly fighting sleep as she glared at her father in the dark of her room. ‘My mama!’ She pouted, burrow furrowing deeper as she flung a hand towards her father, trying to stop him from coming closer. 

He squeezed Elliot’s small fingers, turning the same pout to his wife. ’Rain check?’ He asked, grin cocky, pants replaced, shirt missing. Claire only rolled her eyes, trying her best to shift the toddler who refused to budge, clinging to her mother’s clothes. 

‘No, mine, stay!’ Elliot grumbled, still glaring baby blues at the man who helped create her. Her small hand took hold of her mother’s breast, eyes partly closed as she sucked on the pacifier in her mouth. Owen couldn’t believe how much like a little girl she still was, all the while being entirely too grown up. Her glares followed words now, and warnings not to touch her much loved possession; Claire.

He watched Elliot out of the corner of his eye, like the little girl was a flighty animal, unpredictable and bound to attack. ’So, I called my parents and they’re taking the girls tomorrow morning until the end of the weekend. No ifs, ands, buts, or tears.’ He levelled Elliot with a head on look, the girl’s eyes closed, her breathing dropped. She had fallen asleep before she could hear her fate. It was Thursday. Three days and two nights without their children seemed alien. Charlie was often _always_ with her grandparents - Elliot was the one who would put up a fight with the news. 

Claire was practically giddy again, thrilled that they would have some time alone for the first time in too long. ‘Sorry that I’ve been neglecting you … us - it’s not going to happen again.’ He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, promising dedicated weekends once a month where their daughters were to be shipped to their grandparents so their parents could reconnect. 


	150. #150 - Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen taking Claire for a motorbike ride, if only he remembered to fill the gas tank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 150 prompts - can you believe it?! thank you to everyone who prompts, reads, comments, kudos' and all the rest!

 

‘No,’ she started easily. The second his suggestion was out of his mouth, Claire disagreed. There was no way she was climbing on the back of his bike. Not in her deepest nightmares would she throw a leg over that monster and straddle it. Owen could beg as much as he liked, she wouldn’t cave. 

‘C’mon,’ he practically purred in her ear, hands sliding around her waist as his chin dropped to her shoulder. ‘It’ll be fun.’ He kissed her cheek, excitement barely able to contain itself. He had spent close to four months without his bike, the vehicle collecting dust in the pits of Isla Nublar, exactly where Owen left it near the innovation centre. 

Claire didn’t tell him that their things were being collected. Instead, she waited for the truck to pull up in front of their small but modest townhouse. He watched her with something akin to surprise as the back of the truck was rolled open. She watched his face deflate with each box of personal items, his chest cracking at the missed opportunity to _ask_ for his bike.

She had called to him so innocently, for assistance with the last box. It was crate, one Claire insisted needed to be opened on the back of the truck in order for them to get it off. Owen assumed it was some couch she couldn’t part with, despite the other items that were delivered baring no semblance to furniture. The look on his face when they cracked the lid, his Triumph sitting beneath it was almost enough to keep them happy for a century. 

The bike needed a service, machine barely running and Owen was more than giddy to do the whole thing himself. He spent three weeks ordering parts and covering himself in grease. She watched him from the garage door, mug of tea in her hands, smirk on her lips. 

Claire never thought that once it was finished he would beg her to ride it with him. ‘She’s purring like a kitten.’ He tried to reassure her, Claire shaking her head at the proposition. Claire had no doubt his bike was running smoothly, she could hear it rumble from every point in the house. He had taken it for a ride the day before, gone for hours before he returned to slam her against the wall. It was the sex that surprised Claire, a sudden edge, a thankful excitement added to his touch. 

‘Not happening.’ Claire didn’t consider herself the reckless kind to climb on the back of a motorcycle. And yet, Owen was begging so low in her ear that she preferred to _ride_ him instead of the bike. 

He whined, noise coming from the back of his throat. ‘To the end of the street and back?’ He asked, trying to grovel for a compromise as he broke away from her, her body cooling without his touch. She was considering it, despite every inch of her mind singing not to. She knew, at least, if she agreed he would stop begging her and the argument would cease. 

From behind his tool box, Owen pulled out a spare helmet, holding it up to her as if he was presenting her with a price. He bought it just for Claire, knowing that she would use a lack of safety gear as her excuse to say no. That, and it would function to fit Gray when the boy came to visit. 

She shook her head, tongue clicking as she rolled her eyes. Of course Owen would cover all his bases. ‘Live a little, Claire.’ He grinned, wiggling his brows as he stepped towards her, fat kiss planted on her cheek. 

‘To the end of the street and back?’ She asked, making sure she heard him correctly. Owen nodded, grin splitting across his face. ‘Just this once.’ He was like a kid in a candy store with an unlimited allowance, the man two seconds from buying the whole shop. 

He kissed her again, this time on the mouth as he handed over the helmet. ‘Trust me, babe, once you have this girl rumbling between your thighs you’ll be begging to ride again.’ He winked at her making Claire wish she could claim it as an adolescent thing. Owen, however, was fond of winking in her direction.

He jumped on the bike immediately, helmet pulled over his head as he beckoned Claire forward. She stepped up, thigh bumping against his as her fingers started to shake with nerves. Owen helped with her helmet, large hands squeezing her slightly smaller ones, trying to ease her worry. 

Despite her anxiety, Claire climbed on, hips cradling his as she leant into his body, Owen pulling her arms around his middle and locking her hands at his belly. She watched the stretch of driveway in front of them, their street quiet as her stomach did somersaults. 

‘Hold on!’ Owen warned, starting the ignition as his bike began to roar. Claire tensed behind him, her grip tightening around his middle as he felt her head rest between his shoulder blades. He couldn’t help the laugh, easy chuckle filling his chest and escaping with the jolt of his bike. 

He couldn’t describe how good it was to have the vehicle back, running beneath him, nothing between him and unpredictable freedom. The second it started running the day before he felt light, unbound to the earth that held him or the place in which he had settled in life. He nearly didn’t come back, nearly kept to the roads with no end in sight until he thought of Claire. He owed her too much to speed away and never return, he liked her too much to do it as well. 

Instead, he hit the open road as long as he could stand, until his chest started to thrum with the ache of her distance before he turned around and returned to her. Owen barrelled into their home like a storm, a wrecking ball coming back down from a high as he pinned her against the wall and did away with their night right there. She didn’t question it, only grinned as she chuckled, smile bright on her face as they lay in a crumpled mess on the floor afterwards. He _loved_ her for that. 

Second day, second ride and Owen felt more in-tuned than he had the afternoon before. His bike was alive beneath him, humming between his thighs as Claire kept a tight grip on his middle, holding them down, keeping them grounded. He reached the end of their street before he knew it, Claire’s body relaxing behind him. Owen couldn’t bring himself to turn around. 

He pushed on, feeling her fingers dig into his stomach as her heart beat erratically against his back. Trying his best to reconnect with his romantic side, Owen headed for Sunset Cliffs. He thought she would like it. They drove out there after they unpacked what little they had left of their lives, Owen at the wheel and desperate to get _out_ , go _somewhere_ , just _drive._ From a park bench by the cliffs, they watched the sunset in silence, her fingers dancing over his, not daring to take his hand. 

They weren’t playing coy any longer. Owen just thought she would like it. 

‘I love your definition of “ _the end of the street”.’_ Claire panted, trying to catch her breath as she pulled the helmet off her head, hair cascading back over her shoulders. It was the adrenaline that made her breathless and likely the small fact that she spent most of the trip screaming into his shoulder blades. 

He took her shaking fingers in his, locking them together as he tugged her towards the park. ‘You loved it,’ he squeezed her hand pulling her into his side as he kissed the top of her head. He watched her check over her shoulder, the park empty around them as the sun began to set. He squeezed her hand a second time when Claire didn’t respond, eliciting only a hum as her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. 

Owen didn’t know when she took charge, their direction shifting from the path to crunch along the foliage. ‘You drive me crazy.’ She purred, stalking him as she pulled away from his body and coerced his back against a tree. His eyes darted all over her face, from her plump lips to her darkening eyes. He almost knew what was coming when she leant in, their hands still joined, her other dropping her helmet to the browning foliage at their feet. She kissed him softly, testing the waters, her eyes still watching the space around him. Owen waited a beat, holding his breath before her senses focused wholly on him. Her second kiss was hungry, teeth clashing, biting, pulling. Her fingers pulled from his, eagerly fidgeting down the plane of his stomach until she hit hit belt buckle. 

‘You’re playing with fire, babe.’ Owen warned, his throat dry.

Claire only grinned, nimble fingers loosening his belt without much protest from the man who was too busy trying to control his breathing. She pecked his lips once, twice, three times before her kisses started to trail down his throat. She pushed his shirt up to lay open mouthed kisses to his chest. He didn’t stop her when she lowered to her knees, hand inside his pants slowly but surly stroking the thick girth of his already aching cock. 

He wanted to tell her how bad she was, words ready to fall from his lips, desperate and scathing, just the way she liked them. He couldn’t say it, throat suddenly stuck as she pulled him free from his boxer briefs and wrapped her smirking lips around the head of his dick. Owen lost everything but the feel of Claire. His train of thought derailed, scattering off into the bushes as his eyes squeezed shut. He dropped a hand to the top of her head, fingers threading through her hair as he felt her movements through his groin and arm. Owen knew not to tug, not to control her, or else he would see the end of their activity. 

Her movements were fast, almost sloppy, desperate to see him to release as her heart hammered in her chest. They didn’t do this, fuck each other in public places, let alone Claire on her knees. The thought had always been tempting, Owen’s hands wandering, hers desperate to do the same. They never caved. Until now. She couldn’t help it, her heart racing so fast Claire didn’t know what else to think. It was Owen who pushed her, who drove her to do crazy things, who accepted her limits and set the bar a little higher. It was because of Owen that adrenaline was pounding in her bloodstream, setting her heart rate to soar and turning her on all at once. She could only thank him the best way she knew how. 

Groaning into his release Owen pulled Claire up by her armpits, eyes swimming with adoration as he met her gaze. She swallowed sharply, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as Owen pulled her in close, his kiss as hungry as hers. ‘I adore you.’ He growled, desperate to tell her that he loved her but unsure if it was the orgasm he just had or a real emotion. 

Claire grinned, chin tilted towards the boughs above them, leaves whistling in the slight breeze. ‘Take me home, Owen -’ her voice was low, dream state caught in lustful blue eyes. ‘- and fuck me.’ She met his lips roughly, biting his bottom lip before she pulled away, bending to pick up her helmet. 

Owen never needed to be told twice. He pulled up his jeans and fastened his belt again before collecting his helmet like Claire had done. He turned to regard the sunset, grinning at himself as his hands shook from what they had just done. 

He kissed her again, for the hell of it, arms wrapped around her waist as he leant her against his bike. He dared his hands to travel beneath her clothes but knew they wouldn’t make it if he did. Instead, he pecked her cheek and helped with her helmet, climbing back onto his bike and revving it to start. The bike came to life, rumbling between their thighs once again, Claire clenching Owen’s shirt before it stopped. 

‘What’s wrong?’ She asked, the man practically hearing the knit in her brows. Owen tapped at the gas tank gauge, lever sitting stubbornly on zero. Owen offered her a sheepish shrug, helmet pulled off his head as he sighed in defeat. ‘Are you serious?’ He nodded softly, watching the irritation fight with arousal in her eyes, Claire caught at a crossroads as he promised the nearest gas station wasn’t all that far away. 

He was thankful she had a good sense of humour, amusement cracking across her face as laughter bubbled from her throat. Claire only shook her head, cursing at the sky that he would be stupid enough to not check the fuel gauge frequently enough, subsequently leaving them stranded the _one_ time she was itching to get home. She pecked his cheek, fondly calling him an idiot for ruining a perfectly good mood as her hand tugged his towards the road.

 


	151. #151 - To Build a Home: Rise and Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: 'rise and shine, sweet thing.'

It was in the early hours of the morning that he crept in. The house was just as much his as it was hers, but for the last few months, Owen had been vacant from the premises. Creeping only felt right as the sun began to rise, Owen sure that Claire would still be tucked into their shared bed.

He moved slowly, steps calculated in heavy boots as the front door gave way to his key. ‘Whiskey,’ Owen hissed low on his tongue, watching as the large German Shepard pushed her head against the hard wood, impatiently trying to force it open before Owen could. ‘Quiet, girl.’ He warned, only to receive the animal’s large brown eyes looking at him with itching upset. Owen only shook his head, pushing at the door as the dog ran in, her paws clicking on the floorboards until she sat, patiently, at the stairs. 

‘Stay.’ He offered the animal knowing Whiskey would follow his commands regardless of if they were on duty or not. That’s what she was trained for. Two years out in the field brought them the bond that came with the command. Whiskey whined, tail sliding against the floor as Owen bent to undo his bootlaces, untangling the knots before sliding them off. Whiskey stayed behind when Owen climbed the stairs, head checking over his shoulder to make sure the dog wasn’t creeping in socked feet behind him. 

The sunlight had managed to reach the windows of their second storey, stretching across the floorboards in the hallway. She loved it like that, for some inexplicable reason, light on the floor, warming places while others remained cool. Owen couldn’t help the grin on his face, warmth slipping across his body as he watched the sun spots, his fingers inches away from their bedroom door where she lay sleeping. He spent months watching the sun on the ground, thinking of her glee, knowing that she loved to stretch out like a cat on the floor, soaking up its warmth. He wanted so desperately to join her, the distance between them made it impossible. 

The door creaked slightly at his touch, hinges reminding him that he was asked to oil them the last time he was home. Owen added to his list. Nothing else mattered the second he saw tangerine hair spread across her pillow. The rest of Claire followed, curled beneath a thin blanket as the morning sun tried to reach her. 

His heart skipped a beat. She was _right there_ finally. He had practically been scratching on the slats of his bunk the number of days he’d been away. They couldn’t exactly say they were miserable when separated. Owen missed her like crazy. Claire returned the longing. But, they were happy, organised, living their individual lives and coming back together every once in awhile. She did, however, wish Owen wasn’t gone for as long as he usually was. He agreed. 

She didn’t wake, barely shuddered a breath as he crawled across the bed. He didn’t want to wake her, not yet. He wanted to count the freckles on her cheeks and map the furrow in her brow. Owen wanted to revel in the feeling of lying beside her before he woke her up.

He held his breath as he settled, every muscle in his body tense as he lowered his shoulder to the mattress. Her face screwed up. Some part of her recognising that something had changed in her environment without the use of her conscious senses. 

‘Rise and shine, sweet thing.’ He breathed softly, words almost a song as his fingers reached out to grace her bare shoulder. Owen caught her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, lips pursed as she curled in on herself a little tighter before letting her body relax. 

She was grinning before her eyes opened fully, arms reaching for him as her body slid across the sheets, her hands anchored behind his neck. Owen collected her eagerly, helping Claire to close the distance as his arms wrapped around her waist. 

Her kisses were soft against his neck, touch barely there before she pulled away to look at his face. ‘You weren’t supposed to be back until next week?’ He couldn’t help but grin at her question, watching the way her hair sat ruffled around her head before he managed to whisper _‘surprise_ ’ between their lips, his kiss playful. 

Owen whistled, long and sharp, hesitating a moment as he listened to the sounds of the house. Whiskey’s collar jingling was the first clue the dog heard him before the second followed with his service animal jumping on the bed and licking at Claire’s face eagerly. 

She giggled at the dog, pulling away from Owen briefly to scratch at Whiskey’s head before her attention was back on the man she had been missing for months. ‘You’re home.’ Claire had to take a second to soak it in, her hands on his face as she searched every inch of his features for a sign that something had gone wrong. 

‘In one piece.’ He answered back, kissing the slight pout on her lips. ‘And Whiskey too.’ He winked at her, chuckling once she dropped her head to his chest. Every time he came home, not missing a single body part was a relief on both their behalves. ‘We still have another year of this, think you can last?’ He asked, smile soft, fingers rubbing soft circles against her sides. 

Claire hummed, ‘That’s only _if_ you choose not to resign your contract’. 

‘I’m not doing it. Not another three years of playing with fate. Plus, if I retire, Whiskey does too. We can keep her knowing that she served but didn’t die or get severely injured in the line of duty.’ 

Her lips barely touched his. ‘You still have thirteen months to go.’ She didn’t want him to get too hopeful, already drawing up plans in his head that his companion would make it through without any issues. They knocked two years off, there wasn’t going to be a promise for a third. Lately, Owen and his squad were toeing the line of dangerous activity. Not that their jobs promised they were all in the clear, anyway. 

Owen hummed, kissing her back with a little more force than her not quite there kiss. ‘I promise. Thirteen months and I’m done. I’m home, I’m yours. We can have normal … as close to as the former Senior Assets Manager for Jurassic World and her former Velociraptor Trainer returned Marines Master Sergeant can get.’ The last thing Claire Dearing had signed up for with Owen, was to be the significant other of a military man. She knew to expect the retired aspect but when he announced he still owed time to the Marines, she didn’t see it coming. Living with that was a struggle. ‘Maybe we can have a kid or two.’ Owen pried, his fingers squeezing her as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. 

Claire laughed, giving Owen the reaction he was looking for. ‘How about we reacquaint first? And have the whole-’ she swallowed hard, ‘- _baby_ discussion in a year?’ Owen nodded, shooing Whiskey out of the room as he accepted Claire’s hungry kiss just as desperately. 

Just like that it wasn’t about war zones anymore or making sure his men saw it back home to their families. It was Claire, smelling of vanilla and making the sweetest sounds against his skin. They only had three weeks before he had to leave again, returning them to another year of coming and going before he could sing-song _rise and shine_ for the hell of it, his lips reconnecting with her skin from the night before, their routine habitual and unbroken due to his working absence. 


	152. #152 - Sully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cometothedarkside-x: Owen and Claire get together after the events at the park, but then break up and he leaves the city/country (up to you). Several years later, he comes back and runs into Claire with a kid. Based on the child's age and appearance, he figures out he\she is his. The rest is up to you! Doesn't have to be a happy ending.

 

It was Autumn in New York, the rain holding off in greying skies above the city. Owen didn’t know what he was doing there. He hated big cities, loathed them with a passion only reserved for those who preferred solitude deep in the woods. 

‘You know this park is massive right, Laura?’ Owen huffed, trying to pinpoint where exactly his sister was going to meet him. Central Park was bigger than he had imagined. Now that his feet were above its soil he understood the sheer size that he had once been warned about. Laura Grady had missed the memo after living there for three months. Maps were scarce, Owen’s eyes scanning light posts in the hope of locating his position. ‘I got off at the museum like you told me to, crossed the road, entered the park - now I’m walking straight and I still don’t see you.’ 

When he promised he’d come visit his baby sister in her fancy new city, Owen didn’t think it would entail getting lost in order to find her. She swore it would be easier, as well as crossing a few items off her list of ‘things to do in NYC with your brother’ to meet in the park rather than her office or a chain coffee shop. 

_‘Just keep walking, I’ll find you.’_ She shot back, audibly rolling her eyes as Owen hummed. _‘Tell me what you can see.’_

‘You’re never going to find me.’ He rolled his own eyes, describing trees and rock formations until he came across a fenced in playground. Laura only hummed, taking his information and adding it to her mental knowledge. 

She had no idea where he was. 

He huffed, only slightly, tired and amused as Central Park moved around him Owen stepping across the gravel as he delved deeper. He was mostly alone, a few bodies appearing on different tracks almost out of nowhere before continuing on their way. Owen could hear Laura on the other end asking someone for directions, voice slightly frustrated, making him laugh. Three people joined him on his path when he encountered a fork in the road. Owen couldn’t help but watch them, still a few feet away, as they walked. A woman and two boys, one practically an adult, the other not quite big enough to be in school. She had a phone pressed to her ear, likely on some business call, while the other was held diligently by the little boy, small hand wrapped around three of her fingers.

With his free hand, the child clutched onto the neck of a plastic Stegosaurus as the woman - his mother - kept her pace slow enough for the boy to follow along. Her outfit called out business rather than outing with your son which was enough to rile Owen up and humble him all at once. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy and his toy, despite his past Owen was glad to know that children still found excitement in the prehistoric creatures he used to work beside. Kids were predictable like that, fascinated with the old and no longer living, their imaginations running wild with the wonder that those beasts used to walk the same earth they did now. 

Owen was enamoured with the little boy, grin on his cheeks enough to make his whole week. Without a doubt, he could agree to being the same at that age and with some small portion of his heart, Owen wanted to admit to dreaming of a son exactly like the child in front of him.

It was an easy breeze that pushed the woman’s hair over her shoulder, pulling it free from the lapels of her coat and edge of her beanie. Owen’s heart stopped his happy mood slipping away as his stomach clenched. Red had become a harsh shock to his system. It didn’t matter where he saw it, or who it was on; it always made him think of Claire. His chest ached, small ball of longing and misery contracting behind his ribs. Claire Dearing was long gone, time eclipsing four years since she walked out of his life. 

‘Mommy, look!’ The fields in the centre of the park revealed themselves in wide green spaces as a group of men just to the left of the path played baseball behind a low fence. The child ran towards them, stopping at the fence only to partly climb it. 

The woman turned towards her child, profile grinning in Owen’s eyes as his heart skipped one beat too many. ‘Don’t climb the fence, Sully.’ She warned, scolding her child from a few feet away. 

‘I’ve got him, Aunt Claire.’ The older boy called back as his lifted the child - Sully - from the fence and sat him on top. Owen could barely catch the minute details of their afternoon lives as his eyes flew back to the woman. She wasn’t just any redhead in Central Park. Of course she wasn’t. There with a little boy and her nephew Zach was Claire Dearing. Owen cursed himself for not noticing her sooner, for not catching the sway of her gait or the sound of her voice drifting from the trees. 

_‘Hey, I think I can see you.’_ Laura’s voice reached him, sounding in his ears as Owen’s eyes jumped between Claire and the little boy she was with. ‘ _Turn around.’_ Just as he did Zach turned, one hand shoving his phone in his pocket as the other held securely to the toddler. Zach saw him, mouth opening a little as his eyes jumped to his aunt and back to the man he had once considered uncle. Owen was stuck. ‘ _Hey, big foot,’_ Laura’s voice travelled through the phone speaker and from the space behind him as a small hand poked at his shoulder causing Owen to break his contact with Zach in order to turn and greet his sister. 

‘Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Laura remarked with a frown, as her brother tried to hurry them away from the centre of the park, Claire’s name on his lips. ‘What? Claire? Really?’ Laura stopped in her tracks, turning instantly to get a visual on the woman she used to adore. ‘I forgot she moved here. Do you think she’ll want to go to lunch?’ His sister wouldn’t budge from her place in the middle of the walkway, blatantly staring at Claire and the boys she was with. 

‘Lor, she has a kid, let’s go.’ He tugged on her arm a second time, voice pleading with the young woman like she was dangling something in front of his face, refusing to let it go. ‘I really don’t want her to see me.’

Laura didn’t argue this time, instead she turned, willing to lead her brother away. ‘I forgot she moved out here.’ She hummed, hand circling the air. ‘She didn’t waste any time with moving on.’ Laura was never one for beating around the bush, shorter than her brother by a whole foot, his sister forgot to tread quietly around gentle topics. She made up for her height in a blunt personality and an unapologetic nature that usually made him laugh. Not this time. 

She shied whimsically, elbow hitting at his side as they walked. ‘To think I thought you guys were going to be the ones with wedding bells and baby clothes … strange to think Claire got all that away from you.’ There was no doubt Laura Grady had once adored Claire, the two women getting along like sisters until one left. 

‘Way to make me feel good, Lor.’ Owen grumbled in return, already feeling the brooding thoughts brew in his head. Had he dreamed of a life with Claire that included growing old and starting a family in blissful happiness? Yes. Broken pieces of that fantasy still remained lodged in his chest.

[…]

Laura had tucked them away in a dark and atmospheric restaurant when Owen’s phone buzzed, the contact old and unused for too many years. His sister watched him cautiously, eyebrow raised, food in the air as she tried to read Owen’s face. They were supposed to have a weekend together, like the times they had when he was on leave. Since arriving in New York City Owen was only plagued by ghosts. 

** Zach Mitchell **

7:48pm

What are you doing in New York?

Zach’s message was vaguely threatening. At least, it was in the tone Owen had read it in. Zach was protective of what was his, always had been in a way. After the incident no one could get to Gray unless Zach allowed it and if his aunt didn’t live with Owen, the same would have gone for Claire. The eldest Mitchell would have fought armies in order to keep his family safe and happy. Owen had always admired him for that — and the fact that the boy always managed to top him in Call of Duty.

** Owen Grady  **

7:50pm 

Visiting Laura

‘Everything good?’ Laura asked, bright smile pulling her cheeks wide. She watched her brother respond, barely able to give her half the smile he usually handed out. ‘You know, you could just call her. Ask to catch up?’ 

He shook his head immediately, ‘Laura, no. She - I don’t know, she has a family.’ Owen really didn’t want to discuss it, not with the girl he had always kept his relationships from. He felt it antagonistic to approach Claire now that he had seen her. She had been saved by divine fate in not catching a glimpse of his face. That was enough. She had a life - without him. If he made himself known she would only resent him for doing so. 

Their silverware clinked against their plates as silence slowly settled over them. Laura opened her mouth to speak when Owen’s phone vibrated beside his hand, his eyes instantly on it.

** Zach Mitchell **

7:51pm

Aunt Claire can’t know you’re here. She’ll flip.

Owen’s brow crinkled, concern drawing on his face as he turned his screen towards his sister. ‘Why would Claire care whether I was here or not?’ Laura squinted at the screen as she chewed, concerned eyes raised to her brother. He knew she wouldn’t like it, but he got something else from Zach, a sense of secrecy that Claire didn’t want him anywhere near. 

‘I wasn’t going to say anything.’ She sighed, still unsure on biting her tongue or not. ‘That kid looked a little too big to be conceived _after_ she moved here.’ Laura watched her brother’s heart stop, face expressionless just like their mother when Owen announced that Claire had moved away. He never knew how to display emotions other than rage and even when Owen bottled that in his face remained still. 

‘What are you trying to say?’ He almost growled, words forced out from between clenched teeth.

Laura sighed, ‘I’m trying to say that I think he might be yours’. There was no telling what was going on in her brother’s head as he stared at his plate, face drawn in though, slight crease in his brow. ‘I mean, I didn’t get a good look at him. But there’s a chance? Right? You were with her two years …’

Owen shook his head softly, the movement barely there as he raised his eyes to his sister. ‘Claire wasn’t pregnant when she left. She would have told me.’ Laura wasn’t entirely convinced. She adored Claire but when that woman had her mind set on something she was stuck like glue. Claire wanted out of small town Washington State and if she had to keep secrets from Owen to get it; she would. ‘Zach just confirmed it.’ She barely spoke, turning her brother’s phone back to him. 

Without noticing, Laura replied to Zach via his phone asking bluntly if the little boy in the park was his. Zach’s response came five minutes later while Owen internally pulled his hair out in panic. All it was were three small letters, no detail beyond that, just a simple; yes. 

** Zach Mitchell **

8:10pm 

His name is Sully

‘I need to see him.’ Owen pushed up from the table, dishes clattering as his chair screeched across the floor. Laura was up with him, trying to grab hold of his arm as Owen moved for the door.Being taller than her by a far distance, Owen’s strides were longer. He didn’t wait for his sister to flag down a waiter and pay for their meal, nor did he wait as he marched up the street, heading in an aimless direction. 

‘Hey, big foot! Wait up!’ Laura called, breaking into a sprint to catch the man. 

‘I need to see him.’ He growled for a second time, Laura humming in response before she realised he was on the phone. Her heart stopped, mind desperately praying that he had not dialled a number connected to Claire. ‘Please, Zach, you have to sort something out for me.’ She exhaled loudly, air puffing her cheeks as her whole body relaxed. He could have potentially made things worse if he called Claire directly and demanded to see a child she had withheld from him. 

Laura Grady could count on one hand the number of times she heard her brother beg in her life. The world usually handed everything to Owen on a silver platter. She walked behind him, listening to her footfalls on the pavement as he begged and pleaded for something he didn’t even know was his until ten minutes ago. Owen was desperate, enough so to try to bargain with a twenty-something in order to go behind Claire’s back. 

He seemed so small in the dark, even though his back towered taller than Laura dreamed. With the phone disconnected and pulled from his ear, her brother seemed to fold in on himself. ‘What’s the verdict?’ She asked, alluding to the fact that she hadn’t listened in on his conversation. 

‘I get an hour tomorrow.’ 

[…] 

‘Now,’ Zach started, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to crouch in front of the little boy. ‘Do you remember what we talked about?’ He asked and Sully nodded, little boy watching him nervously. ‘What was it?’ 

‘Don’t tell mommy.’ Sully whispered, hand covering his face. ‘I don’t like secrets, Zachy.’ He added, eyes wide, mouth wobbling. Zach only pulled him into a hug, squeezing the little boy before letting him go. 

‘It’s not a bad secret, Sully. It just something we can’t tell your mom.’ He could feel the child’s worry as much as his own and it was enough to make Zach want to turn around and call an end to their day altogether. Owen wasn’t a bad person, never was and never would be, Zach Mitchell was sure of it. He just didn’t like to sneak behind his aunt’s back. Telling Claire that Owen wasn’t only in New York City but was also aware that he had a son, wasn’t an option. 

Owen was already there, waiting on the bench opposite the playground fingers tapping on his knees as his head scanned the area every thirty seconds. From their distance, Zach could see he was nervous, a trait he didn’t know the older man held. Sully’s hand in his was weak as they walked towards him, Zach calling out and waiving the man down as Scully stopped in his tracks. 

‘C’mon, Sully, this is my friend.’ Zach encouraged, pulling on his hand a little with a pained smile. Owen approached them instead, instantly dropping to his knees in front of Sully. ‘This is Owen, remember, I told you about him on the subway.’ Owen barely looked up at Zach, his eyes remained focused on the little boy in front of him. 

He couldn’t believe he missed it the day before. Sully was a few inches short of Owen’s hip, his hair sandy blonde, his skin fairly tanned, a few stray freckles loose on his nose. His eyes, Owen was drawn to the most, one blue and the other green. The boy was nervous, standing in front of a man he didn’t know eyes sitting everywhere but on Owen as he shuffled to stand behind his cousin. 

‘I like your socks,’ Owen commented, pointing to the child’s feet where green and yellow stripes poked out between the hem of his jeans and his loafers. ‘Did you pick them today?’ He asked quietly, trying for a gentle smile instead of the desperation he felt beating against his chest. 

Sully hid everything but a green eye behind Zach’s legs, hands gripping tightly to his jeans. ‘I want mommy.’ He whimpered, disappearing completely behind Zach. 

The older boy only stepped away, a hand on Sully’s shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he tried for bargaining. ‘My friend Owen knows lots about dinosaurs, I thought we could maybe go into the Natural History Museum and let him teach us something. We can go see your mom for lunch afterwards. How does that sound?’

Sully was hesitant with Owen just as Zach was, ready to pounce if the man decided to pick up the boy and run away with him. The boy kept Zach between himself and Owen there whole walk to the museum, head poking past Zach’s legs to look at him occasionally as Owen did the same. 

It wasn’t until they got inside and their tickets were paid for that Sully spoke directly to the new stranger in his life. ‘Wrong way.’ His voice was quiet, fingers in his mouth again as Owen veered for the stairs, already privy to the knowledge that the dinosaurs were on the fourth floor. ‘Mam-mals,’ Sully pointed to the opposite staircase, the one leading down instead of up with the hand that held onto his Stegosaurus. 

‘Dinosaurs?’ Owen asked, finger pointing to the ceiling. Sully shook his head, hand stabbing the air. ‘Lead the way, little man.’ He only shrugged, Zach softly explaining that Sully was partial to the North American Mammal Hall on the first floor. It was a must whenever they entered the building. ‘I bet Claire hates this place, she’d lose too many hours in here.’ Owen chuckled, walking in step with Zach as he kept his eyes on Sully’s blue backpack. 

Zach shrugged, ‘She likes it. I mean, sure, it gets boring once you know everything from the inside out but - I kid you not, she and Sully spent two hours in the Hall of Ocean Life last week. Sully doesn’t like to be over stimulated, he kind of panics. In the darker rooms here they have the space to sit on a bench or the floor and soak it in without too many added distractions. They’ve been in there a good ten times this year, but I don’t know, she sits with him and teaches him anything he asks. She’s a good mom.’ There had been no doubt in Owen’s mind that Claire would make a spectacular parent. He just never thought it was something she would actually do. 

‘Hey, Sully.’ The boy stopped. ‘Which one is your favourite?’ Owen asked, catching the child’s excited expression in the dark hall. Sully lead them to the grizzly bears, sitting on the bench in front of the display where his feet didn’t touch the floor. Owen watched him instead of the frozen creatures, caught midlife. Sully was a boy of few words either because he was shy or just unsure of Owen. He had a sweet nature to him. The kind that suggested he was very close to those who loved him, and fond of curling up with them. Owen was envious that Claire withheld that from him. A rage tingled in his fingertips, causing Owen to clench his fists with a want to speak his mind to the woman who managed to crush his whole world for the second time in four years. 

‘Do you have a favourite, Mr Owen?’ He missed the boy climbing into a stand, his feet on the bench as his little fingers touched the top of Owen’s hand. The boy was watching him with wide eyes, curious and unblinking in the dark space only illuminated by the lights behind the exhibits. 

Owen hummed, snapping out of his thoughts as the tension in his body relaxed. ‘I’ve never been here before but I think the grizzly bears are my favourite too.’ 

‘Ryan likes the Bison.’ Sully extended an arm, pointing to the large display they had past on their way to the grizzly bears. 

‘Who’s Ryan?’ Owen inquired, bending down to Sully’s height a little. 

The boy beamed, eyes on fire as he answered Owen’s question. ’My daddy!’ He waited a beat before jumping from the bench, loafers hitting the floor with a smack as his knees caught the force from the floor. 

Zach was sheepish when Owen turned to him, shoulders raised as he shrugged. ‘Ah, Aunt Claire is engaged.’ 

[…]

‘Hey, bug.’ Claire Dearing grinned, her voice soft in the lamplight as she kissed her son on the head before climbing into his bed. ‘This guy’s new.’ She noted, making herself comfortable as Sully touched the bear’s nose to hers. ‘Did Zach buy him for you?’ She curled her arm around her son, revelling in his warmth against her side as his head dropped to her chest. A book sat in her lap, now discarded, as she tried to focus on worming Sully’s day out of him. Her boy was quiet but he loved to boast about trips to the museum or The MET; two of his most _favourite_ places in the world. 

Sully shook his head, lips pressed firmly closed. Zach didn’t buy him the bear. ‘It was the secret man.’ He whispered so softly Claire had to strain to hear his words. He was still in her arms, tension fizzing between them. 

‘What secret man?’ Claire asked softly, trying to hold back the worry she felt. As a mother, the only thing she wanted for her child was safety. Hearing Sully mention something about a secret set off all the wrong alarms in her head. ‘James, what _secret_ man?’ The boy didn’t answer, instead his fingers twitched against his new toy’s ear, mind distancing himself from her question.

‘My name is Sully.’ He argued, body squirming away from hers suddenly as Claire’s hands reached him, pulling the boy back to her. 

‘Was Zach with you, Sully?’ She asked, half scared to know the answer. It didn’t matter how many times she had to go through it with him; stranger danger wasn’t a concept Sully grasped in its entirety. He was shy and undeniably clingy but there were strangers he would willingly run away with for no explainable reason. 

Sully nodded. ‘I’m not ‘opposed to tell you.’ He pouted, Sully loved the responsibly that came with secrets. They made him feel like a grown up, no matter what it was. Keeping them was his only problem. As it turned out; Claire was the secret keeper of her son’s life, the boy entrusting her _‘in case I forget’_. 

She kissed the top of his head, squeezing the boy lightly before reaching for the book she had brought in to read. ‘Did you feel unsafe?’ Claire asked, prodding gently. Sully shook his head. ‘He didn’t do anything bad, did he?’ He shook his head again. 

‘He lifted me up real tall to almost reach the brachiosaurus! And, and, and Owen likes the grizzly bears too!’ Claire hadn’t heard the name _Owen_ in so long she almost missed the peculiarity of it in Sully’s speech, the boy stuttering around his words as he tried to regurgitate everything _Owen_ taught him that day. 

‘Owen?’ She asked, barely able to breathe as her heart hammered in her chest, vision blurring slightly as she started to panic. 

Sully hummed, voice cheerfully adding that he was Zach’s friend. ‘He looks at me sad.’ Claire couldn’t sit there any longer, adrenaline forced her up and out of the boy’s bed, feet stumbling for the bathroom as she pushed the door open with a manic urgency. Sully was right behind her, standing in the hallway curiously, book dangling from his hand. ‘Is my brother making you sick again?’ His question was innocent, almost asked on a sigh and a giggle. 

Claire nodded, only to shoo the boy away as she kicked the door shut. 

A knock sounded minutes later, gentle and hesitant before Zach’s voice followed. ‘Aunt Claire? Sully said you weren’t well, are you okay?’ She felt guilty for the anger that was swirling in the back of her head. This was all Zach. They didn’t stumble across Owen accidentally in the park, Zach lead him to her son. 

‘I can’t believe you went behind my back.’ She barely managed to respond, still emptying her stomach as a hand rubbed soft circles across her side. Claire couldn’t tell how much of it was anxiety and how much belonged to the morning sickness that had her seeing more of her bathroom than anything else in her life.

Zach was quiet outside the door. 

Managing to collect herself, Claire returned to Sully, climbing back into the boys bed, her dressing gown pulled around her as she read him his book. She didn’t ask him any more about the man he met as they read. Instead, Sully lay with his head on her stomach periodically telling his soon to be new sibling unimportant little things. 

‘When is Ryan coming home?’ He asked when they were done, face turning to look up at her with tired curiosity. 

Claire bent to kiss his nose, ‘Two more sleeps’. Sully hummed, adding quietly that he missed the other man as his mother pulled herself from his bed and tucked him in. ‘I miss him too, bug.’ It was rare that they saw Ryan away for business but when they did each day was filled with longing for his return. Claire didn’t need the company of another adult every hour of every day, but when her son loved someone so dearly he cried as they left, it was hard not to wish for a speedy return. 

She kissed the top of Sully’s head one more time before uttering goodnight and leaving his droopy eyes to carry him off to sleep. She waited a beat, her hand on the doorknob of his bedroom, listening for cries as she had done every night since he was born. Convinced he would be fine, she broke away. 

For the last four weeks, Zach Mitchell occupied the guest room in her Greenwich Village townhouse. Her nephew was a welcomed guest, looking to spend some time in the city before his classes went back. She had nothing but good things to report back to his mother, until now. His door was open when Claire stepped towards it, standing in the space until he looked up from his phone. 

‘I don’t even know where to begin with you.’ She hissed, feeling the same anger churn in her belly from earlier. ‘You’re living in my home, Zach. I cancelled the nanny today so you could take Sully to the museum and you go behind my back. I risked a meltdown, I put that on you but I thought ‘ _he loves the museum too much to realise it’s Monday, Zach will cope’._ I _trusted_ you with my son this afternoon. I don’t understand what you were thinking.’ 

‘Owen just wanted to see him,’ Zach shrugged.

‘Why would Owen want to see a child he didn’t know about?’ Claire crossed her arms over her chest. 

Zach scrubbed a hand over his face, a move Owen used to pull on her all too often. He sighed, air forcing its way out of his lungs as he rolled his eyes up to look at her. ‘Look, Aunt Claire, I’m sorry. I really am.’ His phone was discarded to the nightstand, posture straightened as his face collapsed. ‘He’s in town visiting his sister and saw us in the park on Sunday. He _guessed_. I didn’t know what to do when he asked to see Sully. Owen wouldn’t take no for an answer and I knew if I told you it would blow the whole thing out of proportion. He just wanted to _see_ his son, it was reasonable request.’ 

She shook her head, hand raised to silently stop him. ‘You should have told me.’ Claire told him bluntly, voice dropped low as she glared at him from the doorway of his bedroom. ‘In the least, if you really felt like you couldn’t talk to me, you should have _lied_ to him.’ Zach opened his mouth to argue only to have Claire cut him off. ‘This wasn’t your decision to make.’ She wanted to say more, to yell and scream and cry, she couldn’t, not with Sully in the next room. ‘Is his number still the same?’ 

[…]

‘How _is_ Laura?’ Claire asked politely, stepping around Owen as he welcomed her into his sister’s apartment. Owen hummed, Laura was good, loving city life, ecstatic that she was there. ‘Tell her she can call me, if ever she needs anything. I’ve always liked her.’ She smiled softly, not quite reaching her eyes as it fell again. 

Owen awkwardly offered her a drink, frowning softly when she politely turned down a glass of wine. He hadn’t known a time where Claire said no to an offered wine or two. She stood in the centre of the living room, trying to hold the power position as her hands shook, smile ticking on her face like she was about to have a stroke. 

‘I don’t know where to start.’ She laughed softly, eyes not meeting his as her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag. 

Owen grunted, coffee mug in his hands as he lowered himself to the couch. ‘Why don’t you start with why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant four years ago.’ He watched her swallow, trying to catch her thoughts as her fingers twitched. 

‘If you knew,’ Claire began, voice soft, eyes on the floorboards. ‘You would have made the wrong decision. Don’t say that isn’t true, it is. I found out after I got the job offer. We had already started arguing about whether I should take it or not.’ Owen Grady didn’t want to pack up and move to New York City for the rest of his life, sitting there in hope that Claire would be offered a better job elsewhere. 

The incident was over. Their lives had settled. He had grown comfortable sleeping with her beside him, routines revolving around the other, nightmares dissolving into better things. He thought they were content to remain in Washington State, in the house her parents had left her, for the rest of their lives. Owen was wrong. He had learnt that quickly. Claire longed for the big city, to be _apart_ of something again, needed and considered important in a tough work environment. She thrived on it, like cacti in the desert, she needed the heat. Finally free from military clutches, Owen wanted to settle down in the quiet life. He wanted a yard and a dog, he wanted a hunting cabin and a small fishing boat. He wanted lazy winters locked in doors with Claire wrapped in his arms. 

They wanted different things. 

He deserved his dreams as much as she deserved hers, neither of them were going to stand in the way of the other. It was everything or nothing and so they parted ways a little less than amicable. 

If Claire told Owen she was pregnant, if she ever so much as hinted at there being life under her skin; Owen would have jumped into the sun to chase after her. She didn’t want him to make a decision based on something she wasn’t even sure she wanted. Claire knew without a doubt that he would settle, instantly, for a child, even if it meant moving to New York to raise them. He would sacrifice everything he had dreamed about to be by her side, to selflessly love their baby. He would grow to resent her. 

‘I wasn’t going to keep him after you made your decision. I didn’t _want_ to do this to you.’ She sighed, half pleading as Owen watched the woman he still knew as strong and powerful wilt in front of him. ‘I had an appointment,’ she rolled her wrist, letting him guess what for. ‘I couldn’t get out of bed that morning. Nothing in my body would cooperate. I don’t know why, or how, or what the universe was trying to suggest. I didn’t go. I kept him instead.’ 

Claire considered calling him, revelling herself to the man and the secret she was going to brush under the rug. She never made that call. 

‘I see so much of you in James.’ She admitted tearfully, ‘And I hate that I kept you from him and he from you. But, Owen, this isn’t going to work. We can’t make a schedule to benefit us both.’ She shook her head as Owen raised a brow. 

‘James?’ Zach called him Sully. ‘I mean, sure, it’s going to be hard, but we can work something out, can’t we?’ 

She sighed, biting her lip as she tried to reign in her emotions. ‘James Sullivan Dearing. We all call him Sully. After your grandad.’ She admitted, eyes on her fingers. ‘He has a _thing_ with being called James.’ She didn’t explain any further about the inexplicable tantrums the boy threw when they used his other name. Sully was what he liked and so it would stay. ‘You’re going to fly to New York, what? Every weekend?’ 

Owen shrugged, ‘I mean, sure. He could come to me occasionally. I moved out to Ely 2 years ago. I think he would _love_ it.’ 

‘Oh no.’ Claire shook her head immediately. 

He raised his head, watching her with building outrage. ‘What, Claire? It’s a three hour flight, kids do it all the time. I’m not say right now but maybe in a year or two.’ 

‘He’s not flying alone. Not happening, he’s not going somewhere outside of his routine. You come here, you fly to New York every fortnight and we make it work that way but he’s not going to you.’ He could hear the panic in her voice but wasn’t understanding why. It had only been a suggestion, hope building in Owen’s chest that he could teach his son to hunt and fish like he’d have dreamed if he knew it was a possibility. 

‘I will have to work at some point.’ He chuckled, trying desperately to not get frustrated. 

She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand, nurturing Sully’s routine is at utmost importance. Ruin it and you risk a melt down.’ 

‘He’s three, Claire. You’re the last person I’d expect to bend to a child’s routine.’ 

‘Sully’s on the spectrum. He was diagnosed two years ago with Aspergers. When will you understand that I’m saying _no_?’ Her voice was wet, emotion quickly thickening her words as she watched him through blurry eyes. ‘I can’t do this Owen, I …’ she shook her head. ‘I would have told you but I didn’t …’ Her breath caught in her throat, hand sitting on her chest. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near him,’ Claire admitted quietly, eyes on the floor.

‘Excuse me?’ Owen asked, voice rough, concern crinkling his bow. 

‘I’m getting married, Owen. Ryan has been in our lives since Sully was six-months-old. We’re happy … we’re having a baby … trying to accommodate to you, it complicates it all. It’s too much happening at once for Sully, he really likes the planet the way it is at the moment and I’m scared of forcing too much on to him.’ She was trying to plead her case, Owen’s eyes no longer on her face but boring holes through the hand that rested protectively on her stomach. He never used to have terrible timing. Owen couldn’t understand how he had suddenly lost it all. It had been four years and although he left a string of one night stands in his wake he had selfishly assumed Claire would never move on. 

‘You know what?’ He sighed, hand scrubbing over the back of his neck as Owen squeezed his eyes closed. ‘Just forget about it. You’re his mother, you know what’s best for him.’ He dropped to the chair behind him, head in his hands as his fingers dug into his scalp. Claire only watched, mouth agape and eyes blinking. 

‘Owen?’ Her voice was soft, hands reaching for him as she stepped forward tentatively. 

He growled without raising his head, words shaking through her bones as she jumped in surprise. ‘Get out.’ Her fingers barely touched his shoulder, Owen rolling it away from her as he rumbled. ‘For fucks sake, Claire, you got what you want. Now _leave.’_

[…]

Several Months Later 

Winter rolled in the same way it did every year, with freezing temperatures and blankets of snow. The Winter Festival was in the process of being set up, as the townspeople began to bubble with excitement. This year, Owen couldn’t care less. He moved to Ely, Minnesota two years earlier, in search of change and the real life he wanted. The town was small and relatively quiet. The space around it was wide open and full of adventure. 

Owen was back to being miserable again. He couldn’t help but think of Claire and Sully, small parts of himself missing in them. Claire, he could one day get over but Owen wasn’t so sure he could forget his son. Sully’s blue-green eyes haunted him, asking where he had gone in his sleep, begging the man to come visit again. 

He didn’t like to cause issues for other people. Owen spent most of his life serving to protect a cause through the military and then InGen. He was cocky and self assured, he liked to poke buttons, but he never rocked the boat that wasn’t already sinking. Claire didn’t want him near Sully and where Owen didn’t agree with that approach he wasn’t about to push her into changing her mind. Instead, he held his tongue, put his tail between his legs and left the city earlier than his plans with Laura had detailed. 

‘Mr Owen!’ The last thing he expected, the first week in February, snow still falling fresh on the pavement, was to hear Sully’s voice. Owen was set up in his garage, door open to let the cold air chill his bones as he tinkered with his bike. He left his car parked on the curb, giving him view of the whole street and the little boy barrelling up his driveway. 

‘Sully?’ He asked, standing as his eyes squinted at the figure. The child crashed into his legs giggling loudly as Owen picked him up terrified that he wouldn’t be met by the right coloured eyes. One blue and one green grinned back at him, boy already spitting dinosaur facts. ‘What - What are you doing here?’ He peered over the boy’s head to catch another body entering his garage. Owen had never seen him before but knew exactly who he was. 

‘Owen Grady?’ He asked with a grin, knowing his answer was right. ‘Ryan Frazier, Claire’s husband.’ Ryan didn’t miss the disappointment that flickered past Owen’s face, slight hurt sliding across his features before he caught it. Owen only opened his mouth, eyes jumping between the boy and the man who brought him, unsure what question he should ask first. ‘Claire had a change of heart.’ He offered simply. ‘She wanted to bring Sully herself, but the baby has her a little more preoccupied than she would like.’ 

The fact of the matter was, with her wedding over and her new baby in her arms, Claire felt guilty. It was something Ryan had said or done that wasn’t entirely clear to the man himself that urged Claire to forge a bond between her first child and his biological parent. 

She wanted to extend the olive branch to Owen, find peace with the pain she caused so they could move on. 

Owen hummed, nodding his head softly in faux understanding. He couldn’t help the slight spur of jealousy in his gut or the anger he felt directed not only at Ryan but at Claire. With every mention of their lives, Owen only felt like it should have belonged to him. He still hated her for making choices he was adult enough to make on his own. 

‘My home is occupied by women for the weekend so we _men_ have decided to come out and explore the wilderness. I was hoping you’d be our guide.’ Ryan’s smile was warm, hopeful and all too sweet enough that Owen could see exactly why Claire liked him. He was a business man, head of the rival company she worked against. His career seemed to completely contradict his nature. Ryan was friendly, laid back and easy going. With only minutes of interaction Owen could see him as the kind of guy he would share a few beers and watch the game with. 

‘Do you have a place to stay in Ely?’ He asked, curiously, generosity already breaking through his voice. 

Ryan shrugged, ‘Ah, little bed and breakfast just off the main street?’ 

Owen scoffed, head shaking as Sully giggled at his reaction. ‘That’s no way for _men_ to vacation.’ The roar in his chest was soft, enough for effect to excite the little boy more than scare him. ‘How about this, you guys stay here. We hunt, we barbecue, we watch sports, and act like _men.’_ He squeezed the boy making him giggle louder as he roared from Owen’s hip. 

‘I didn’t get no brother, Mr. Owen.’ The child informed the man, smirk climbing Ryan’s face. 

Owen gaped, staring in disbelief into the child’s blue/green eyes. ‘You got a sister? Okay, you definitely need this weekend.’ It was a look to Ryan that would seal them in, Owen already mentally making preparations and plans to wow the son he never knew he had. Lost time had to be made up in three days, proving himself not only to Ryan and Claire, but Sully himself that Owen was fit to be a _great_ dad. 

Ryan nodded easily, adding that it was exactly what they needed before hoping the weather wouldn’t get in the way of any activities. ‘I still need to talk to Claire.’ Owen urged, placing Sully on his feet and letting the boy run towards the door that would let him into the house. Ryan nodded again, promising they would set aside sometime after the weekend was over. ‘He’s not scared of dogs, is he?’ Owen asked with slight concern, finger pointed towards the boy just as the door opened, three Siberian Husky’s pooling out and lavishing Sully with attention. 

[…]

‘He hasn’t stopped talking about that visit since he got home.’ Claire grinned, smile wide and genuine, skin on her cheeks pink with glee. He didn’t know what he was doing there, once again, sitting with Claire in Central Park by a pond. There was a pram almost surgically attached to the ends of her fingers, her touch never too far from it as the baby within terrified Owen and churned jealousy in his gut all at the same time. Her name was Eliza and already there was a stock of fussy red hair on the top of her head. Owen barely wanted to look at her, let alone acknowledge the pram as self hatred swirled in the pits of his stomach. 

He was trying _not_ to be a jealous idiot. Fuck it up and Claire would ensure he never saw his kid again. Sully barely turned his head to check they were still there, the boy crouched by the water, patiently trying to coax the ducks towards him by pretending he wasn’t there at all. Owen taught him that. _Owen_. He was trilled. 

‘He _adores_ you.’ Owen wanted to fight back with a comment, of course he did, he was his father, he knew what his kid would like and they never should have been separated. Again, he couldn’t fuck it up. Instead, Owen hummed, agreeing that he adored the boy in return. He did. ‘I’m sorry,’ Claire admitted quietly, eyes on Sully’s back as the trees whistled around them. ‘If I could go back and change it, I would.’ She shuddered out a breath, almost shivering in the cool air, despite her jacket. Owen wanted to reach out and tuck her into his side. That wasn’t his place any more. Ryan was supposed to be the one to keep her warm now. ‘I would have told you sooner. I don’t regret leaving you, Owen. _We_ needed that.’ He couldn’t help but nod. Although Owen considered his life miserable since Claire left, he had managed to move, to find things, interests and adventure, a new job he loved, a life elsewhere - off the beaten path, where he couldn’t be found. 

Owen wanted solitude. He wanted small town and mountains, fishing, camping, and hunting. Claire wanted New York City. 

He did wish, in the slightest, that she had been miserable in turn. That maybe for a while she was alone and on the brink of calling him again. He didn’t know what he would have done if she did; pregnant or not. But Owen had a pretty strong conviction that he would have dropped everything for her; without a word. 

‘I do wish I didn’t take those years from you. He’s a great kid and he deserved to have _his dad_.’ 

Owen shrugged, despite the pain he felt in his chest with every reminder than he had missed _three years_ of his son’s life. ‘You and Ryan did a good job. You’re a wonderful mom, Claire.’ He couldn’t help but tap his index finger against her thigh, blaze and nonchalant as he watched the smile creep across her face. ‘Hey Sully?’ He called for the boy, child running to his side instantly. 

Without asking, Owen stuck his hand into the backpack Claire had sat at their feet. He had seen something in there the boy would find useful and couldn’t help but impart some more knowledge to his son. ‘Now, you shouldn’t feed ducks bread, okay?’ The boy nodded, held on every word. ‘You gotta get your mom to buy you some peas and corn when you want to come down here and feed them. But, this will have to do - _today only_.’ He retracted his hand, unrolling his fingers to reveal a handful of crushed crackers. 

Sully took them without a word, scooping the flecks of food into his tiny hands before turning around. He walked back slowly, steps calculated, hands extended in front of him as his eyes watched the food in his palms. 

‘He’s got me now, though, right?’ Owen asked, turning his head away from the boy just slightly to catch the emotions on Claire’s face. She displayed everything so readily now, giving away all her secrets with every word out of his mouth. 

Her smile didn’t falter as she nodded, her eyes on the boy as the ducks started to approach him. In an instant Sully was squealing with laughter, body surrounded by the small animals eagerly pecking at the crushed crackers he dropped the second they started to approach. 

‘I don’t know how we’re going to do this.’ Her sigh was exasperated but joyful. ‘He has you. I _promise_ that we’ll make it work.’ 


	153. #153 - Gender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amelias-obsessions: Did Claire and Owen find out if they were having a girl before Charlie was born? If so - reactions? 
> 
> ANON: can you do some pre Charlie fluff? like Owen and Claire arguing over gender or nursery color something of the like?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little fluffy kid apology for the last prompt

Claire Dearing hated feeling bogged down. It was a feeling reserved for the heavy head cold that hit her at least once a year, dropping the woman practically lifeless to her sofa before knocking her out for a week. It rendered her motionless, unable to work, to think, to function. A whole week a year where all she could do was make good of her Netflix subscription that she didn’t use. 

Morning sickness was like that for Claire. She felt stuck in the mud and trapped, all too eagerly, in the bathroom. She thought those days had passed her, the doctor promising that it was long gone a few weeks earlier before congratulating her on entering the ‘fun part’ of pregnancy. The bile came back three weeks later with a vengeance like no other. Owen wanted to hospitalise her, Claire wanted to curl up in a ball and die in her own bed rather than one that smelt of antiseptic. 

If anything, pregnancy was starting to make her enjoy lazy days in bed. Her body needed it more than she knew, Owen already talking about taking her maternity leave early due to her health. The way Claire saw it, nothing was wrong with her health. She was pregnant, not dying, and considering every pregnancy was different she would handle the one she had without complaining too much. 

‘I hate being pregnant.’ She groaned, unable to stop the words from slipping past her lips once Owen entered the room. Claire wasn’t one to complain about much but lately, Owen was bringing it out in her. The second she laid eyes on the man all she wanted to do was moan about backaches, never ending hunger, her weight and why Owen seemingly wouldn’t have sex with her anymore. The latter wasn’t true despite her complaints. 

The man she haphazardly managed to fall pregnant too only frowned, ‘He not treating you well this morning?’ He asked, hand reaching to touch her belly. There was something about his touch that soothed her, always had. Now that she was pregnant, Claire couldn’t help but feel the connection run a little deeper. She rolled her eyes none the less at his comment. It took all her self will not to bite. No, _his_ child wasn’t treating her well - never mind they didn’t have confirmation on the sex. Owen liked to assume male. No real reasoning. He just _knew_. 

She had curled into a ball after waking forty minutes earlier, cursing the doctor who had congratulated her. It didn’t matter what for; being pregnant or leaving the phase of her morning sickness. Both were currently a joke. Claire curled back into bed after she found strength to pull herself from the bathroom, movements slow and painful as she rolled herself into a ball, hand rubbing her stomach. 

Owen dropped a kiss to the dramatic curve of her belly, one hand cupping the protrusion he _adored_ way more than Claire. Her clothes didn’t fit anymore. She had to succumb to the maternity sections of department stores far earlier than she wanted. Claire always assumed that when she had children she would carry like Karen did. The only thing the oldest Dearing had to invest in while pregnant was a pair of pregnancy slacks. Claire got the wrong end of their parent’s genetics. Six-months pregnant and the swell of her belly was already substantial. Owen loved it. Claire was starting to loathe the loss of the body she worked so hard to achieve. 

‘I’m sorry, my boy knows better.’ She rolled her eyes when he pressed his fingers into the side of her stomach, causing the life within to react, kicking at their father in rejection. Owen thought he was clever. The way he saw it if he trained their baby to respond every time he referred to their child as a boy. So far, it was working. ‘Are we going to find out the gender today?’ He asked softly, curious to see if her answer had changed. Owen stopped asking weeks ago, instead, he settled with choosing the gender he had a gut feeling on and hoped for the best. 

‘I thought you _knew_ the gender.’ She teased, eyes closed as she breathed through another bought of nausea. 

‘Knowing this kid’s luck she’ll be wearing a lot of blue.’ 

‘Not the worst thing that can happen to a kid.’ Claire offered with a soft shrug, her hand joining his on her belly. Claire wasn’t going to lie and say pink was her favourite colour, it wasn’t going to be terrible if they did find out the baby was a girl long after Owen had bought boxes of _blue_. ‘We _can_ find out, if you want to.’ She knew the answer before the words left her mouth, of course Owen wanted to know. He was waiting around so patiently for her go ahead. Frankly, Claire was surprised that Owen didn’t just call her doctor behind her back. 

He kissed her sweetly on the lips, the touch thankful as it lingered. ‘I brought you some toast and OJ.’ The tray was on the bedside table, Claire’s stomach thankfully not rolling at the thought of it. ‘Appointment’s at 10, isn’t it?’ Confirming that they still had a little over an hour, Owen rolled onto his back, sighing softly, his hand still connected with hers. Claire curled into him, the curve of her belly creating space between them. ‘You’re going to be great at this,’ he dropped a kiss to her head, ‘being a mom’. 

Claire hummed, she wasn’t convinced. A voice in the back of her head sung that she was the wrong fit for this job and it was too late to back out now. ‘We still have to tell my mom you’re pregnant.’ Claire groaned, hand falling on her face as she buried her head against his shoulder. Why was responsibility catching up on her now? And when did she lose it to begin with? She wasn’t this person, accidentally pregnant with no heart to terminate, hiding from her partner’s mother as her due date drew nearer, the other woman unaware. Her mother would kill her if the tables were turned. At least Karen knew. 

She nodded to herself softly, guilt building in her chest. ‘We’ll find out the sex today and then maybe later we can make plans to go see your mom.’ It was the last thing Claire wanted to do with her constant nausea, chronic back pain, and belly holding Owen Grady’s big baby. It was bound to be uncomfortable enough. But, Owen had a point - not that he was arguing it with her today - his mom needed to know that her first born son had a baby on the way.

[…]

The clinic had always made her feel like she was drowning, holding her breath for too long, head submerged underwater. Claire didn’t know why she felt that way, they were nothing but kind, helpful, and overly excited about the pending arrival of her newborn. Nevertheless, she felt like she couldn’t breathe when she was in there, regardless of if Owen was holding her hand or not. 

‘So, you still don’t know the gender?’ A young technician asked her smile wide, all teeth to the edge of her cheekbones. Claire had seen her once or twice before, not taking much stock in the girl's name, but rather the way she looked at Owen like she was ready to get down on her knees and blow him. She didn’t even think, at this point, that she’d care. 

Claire was getting sick of the questions. She didn’t know the gender of her baby and it was hard to believe that people found that strange. Maybe she wanted the surprise of it, the elusive ‘it’s a boy!’ in the delivery room. They had every right to be concerned even though she didn’t want them to be. Claire hadn’t committed to gendering their child in an attempt to stop it all from being so real. She hadn’t completely sold herself on motherhood and wanted to before they knew if it was _pink_ or _blue._

‘Are you ready to place your bets?’ The doctor had replaced the technician, sending the smile happy young woman out of the room. Claire eased a little, Dr Julia Carson was just about the only face that didn’t look towards Owen and see him as a sex toy. Claire would take her comfort where she could get it. ‘How’re you feelin’, Claire?’ It was a routine question, her doctor squeezing her arm in a supportive manner. Claire hated that question. She didn’t like to admit to weaknesses, and yet, that was all Julia wanted from her. 

She was tired, sick, everything hurt, she swore she could feel her hips widening - she was correct - she was hungry one second, horny the next but didn’t want Owen to touch her. Claire wanted to sleep for days, desperate to crawl into bed and never surface. She hated that she was exhausted within the hour at work, no longer able to make it to the end of her day without the need of a nap and maternity clothes were becoming the bane of her existence as the creature inside her womb literally sucked the life out of her. Her hair was growing rapidly, thick and long past her shoulders while her skin always felt dry. To top it all off, she still had 18 weeks to go.

‘Considering earlier maternity leave, now?’ Julia teased, small pout on her face as she listened to her patient. Claire was a good friend. She watched that woman come in, nervous beyond belief with a positive home pregnancy test. Julia Carson watched the business savvy woman adapt to her news, breaking it down in her thoughts before disappearing and returning a few weeks later, Owen in tow. She was going to keep it, fear written all over her face as she announced their desires. She knew Claire wasn’t going to make it to her initial plan for maternity leave. She was tired enough now that Julia wanted to put her on bedrest for the hell of it. 

‘I hate this.’ Claire groaned, hands scrubbing over her face as Julia suggested she take it slower than she already was. 

Julia only smiled. ‘Think of the reward. You’re a little over halfway there, soon you’ll have your baby in your arms and all of this discomfort will be a faint daydream.’ Claire wasn’t convinced. ‘Speaking of, are we laying any bets? Loser gets late night feedings for a week? Mom, Dad, what’ll it be? Boy or girl?’ 

Owen jumped in with his answer immediately, grin so wide his face could split in half. Claire’s answer didn’t come as readily. She didn’t know. ‘My sister would really like there to be a girl in the family.’ She offered without much thought, Karen’s voice in her head begging for a niece. Between Zach and Gray, there were enough males in her life, it was time for a little girl Karen could spoil. 

‘That doesn’t sound like what _you_ want.’ Julia offered, looking between both Owen and Claire. ‘C’mon, it’s a fifty-fifty guess here.’ Claire shook her head, drowning feeling returning to the room. She really had no idea. ‘What do you feel, deep down?’ 

She could feel the tears bubble before she could stop them. Insecurity rose in her gut, churning with the anticipation that rolled with every appointment. ‘I don’t know.’ Claire answered. ‘I really, I don’t _feel_ anything.’ Owen grabbed her hand, large fingers squeezing tightly as he offered a comforting smile. She was falling apart and barely managing to contain it. ‘Intuition is bullshit. It’s not there, Julia, I don’t have any _feeling_ that it’s one or the other. I just know that I hate feeling like this, I want _it_ out of me already.’ 

Julia was quick to defuse her, Owen squeezing her hand as the medical profession eased Claire into believing her thoughts were normal. They were. She was tired, unwell, and already heavier than she wanted. It was fair to say she wanted the whole thing over, her baby out in the world and that her mind couldn’t settle on a gender when the two sides of her family couldn’t agree. 

It took a few minutes to calm Claire, Julia leading into discussion as Owen kissed her cheek. Once they were confident that she was calm, their excitement rose again. Claire complied in rolling up her shirt, tucking it under her breasts and leaving her large belly exposed to the cool room. It didn’t matter how many times they had been there. The gel Julia applied always took her by surprise. She jumped at the cool touch as the baby beneath her skin kicked out in protest. 

‘Are we sure there aren’t twins in here?’ Julia asked, applying the wand to Claire’s belly as she marvelled in her size. 

‘They’re going to rip me in two trying to come out.’

‘In my experience, don’t pick the thickest of the crop to knock you up if you’re worried about remaining intact after birth.’ Julia laughed, elbowing Claire’s side as they both looked at Owen. ‘I mean, it’s a surprise he hasn’t ruined you during sex. The fact that you’ve made it this far is a miracle.’ Claire nearly choked on her own saliva at that, her laugh deep, shaking her shoulders and her belly as Owen sputtered to defend himself. ‘You’ll be fine,’ Julia reassured. ‘Last I checked your little one was well within the normal size and weight. There will be no destruction of mom on their way out. I promise.’ 

The pause in discussion was almost palpable with Owen’s excitement. The man radiated energy from beside Claire, no longer sitting, but bent in half beside her head, dropping kisses to her hair as Julia showed them their baby once again. 

‘You ready?’ She asked, looking them both in the eye once they managed to tear themselves from the screen. They nodded in unison slowly as Julia began to grin. ’Congratulations, Mom and Dad, Baby Grady is a girl.’ 

[…] 

She only agreed to go shopping when Owen promised they could stop at her favourite smoothie bar first. It wasn’t that she _didn’t_ want to. It was more that, a few hours out in the real world was exhausting, doctors appointments among the highest and trips to the mall hitting her max. 

‘I hope you’re not disappointed.’ Claire began, her words quiet as she followed Owen around a baby boutique neither of them noticed until she was pregnant. 

‘Disappointed? No. Are you kidding me?’ He stopped to kiss the top of her head, then her cheek, his arm winding around her back. Already she was soothed, rejection sliding away with the confirmation that he wasn’t upset. ’Look at this stuff Claire,’ his free arm gestured to the _girl's_ section of the store. ‘Everything here is pink, or purple. That’s too much for one kid. It’s ridiculous and my eyes hurt, but there’s this flutter in my chest. I’m so excited and I can’t even pinpoint exactly why. I’m even thinking in shades of pink for the nursery.’ 

‘No, no pink. I was thinking a neutral colour … maybe even blue.’ The off-white in the room was already enough but Owen had insisted months ago that they paint, something fresh for their child to blossom under before they were old enough to make a colour decision themselves. 

‘Claire, our daughter is going to grow up thinking we wanted a boy.’ 

‘You thought she was a boy!’ She laughed, poking him in the ribs, not ready to admit that part of her heart ached at their surprise. She wanted a boy, now that she didn’t have it, she realised how much she wanted a miniature Owen, someone she wouldn’t have to worry about because they had him. 

‘What about green?’ He asked, plucking a tiny pair of green shoes from their display. He held them out to Claire, hopeful look in his eye. ‘With any luck, she’s going to have your hair.’ It was a side note, a plea, something within him noticing how well she favoured the colour in the time they spent together. Claire couldn’t help but roll her eyes, the shoes sitting in the palms of his hands, making her heart swell in her throat. 

Claire nodded softly, barely managing to utter, ‘I like green’ past the lump in her throat. Owen dropped to his knees, shoes dangling from their string on his fingers as he placed a hand on either side of her belly, lips kissing the curve. ‘Green it is for my little bug, Daddy’s sorry that he thought you were a boy. Clearly, you were trying to tell me otherwise.’ He got a kick to his left hand. Owen took that as the child agreeing. 

‘Are you okay?’ He asked, watching the tears in her eyes as he stood to his full height again. Claire nodded quietly, tears still present. ‘A girl, are you excited?’ She still didn’t know how to respond other than keeping the gentle smile on her face. His happiness was contagious, written on every part of him. She didn’t even know why she asked if he was disappointed. The man practically hadn’t stopped jumping off to Jupiter since they were told. He was almost happier than when she told him she was pregnant. ‘I’m buying these shoes.’ His grin was wide, eyes slightly teary. ‘You’ve been eyeing off that cot blanket since we walked in the door. Do you want it?’ She nodded softly, teeth in her bottom lip as she smiled. ‘We’ll get that too and then I promise I’ll take you home and tuck _my girls_ into bed.’She could see something spark behind his eyes, a hole filling in his chest at the prospect of having _girls_ again. They were never going to replace what Owen found in his Velociraptors but Claire was slightly confident that they would come pretty close. 


	154. #154 - To Build a Home: Missed This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "so ... did you miss me?"

She had forgotten how warm California could be. A week away had spoiled her with cool temperatures so low her teeth were chattering. Claire thought she would enjoy it, business and a change of scenery, a proper glimpse of winter for the first time in years. She hated every second, longing to return to her tangerine home and the warmth it provided near twelve months of the year.

California didn’t disappoint, San Diego engulfing her in a humid hug the second she stepped out from the air-conditioned airport. Never had heat and humidity felt more like home. Claire had been itching for her back porch the second the cold settled against her skin in New York. Her heart longing for an evening with a glass of wine, glorious sunset, and Owen by her side. 

He wasn’t home when she arrived. He wouldn’t be far behind. Humble home greeting her with empty silence as she stood in the doorway, breathing it all in deeply. A single week felt like months away, her conference particularly gruelling when the weather was slowly starting to creep into her veins. She missed home, the warmth, the comfort, the familiarity for the first time since she had been a child.

She left her suitcase by the door, shoes toed off beside it as her travel weary legs carried her throughout the home she missed. It was strange to think there was now a house, standing strong on a plot just outside of San Diego that belonged to her. For so long, Claire lived out of the penthouse apartment on Isla Nublar, confident that it was the only place she would ever belong. Owen had put in great measures to prove she was wrong. He had some convincing to do, arguing that the a-grade fixer-upper was well worth the price stamped on it. 

_‘We can work on it. Make it ours.’_

He managed to surprise her like that, hours spent at the hardware turned into freshly painted walls and a finished deck. He was just as good with a carpenter’s belt on as he was that of a mechanic, or even a Velociraptor trainer. Owen’s passion for _fixing_ things translating in all angles as he started knocking down walls on the first floor in the middle of the night. She had only laughed in disbelief, starring at him with tired eyes as he grinned, face covered in dust. 

Gentle fingers graced the sound system, turning it on as she connected her phone to the bluetooth. It took seconds for Joni Mitchell to thrum across the living room, spreading back into the kitchen as Claire set her keys down on the bench. She wandered, barefoot, towards the fridge, stomach growling. 

Claire was ready to find their fridge bare, Owen unprepared to hunt and gather for himself beyond dialling in a meal. She should have known him better than that, a pre-made lunch was left, sitting forgotten on the middle shelf, _Tuesday_ written on the post-it-note stuck to her Tupperware. Of course he had prepared meals for himself only to leave the last one behind. She claimed it as her own, pulling the container out of the fridge as she popped the lid on smashed pumpkins and chickpeas. 

Her snack was barely finished when she heard the door shut, Owen’s body stopping to inspect the sight of her luggage in the foyer. Claire remained where she was, sitting at the kitchen bench, computer open, email begging to be written. She could almost feel the whole air of the house change, eager expectation holding it’s breath as Owen moved silently through the house. She hated him for that; his innate ability to move without being heard. Claire considered it unnatural for a man of his size. 

She felt him behind her before his hands slid across her ribs, familiar smell of his aftershave washing over her as she inhaled him greedily. Owen engulfed her, arms sliding around her torso as his weight pressed down on her shoulders, his head leaning against hers. He didn’t say anything, only nudged his head against her neck and inhaled. 

Claire leaned into him. ‘So … did you miss me?’ She asked softly, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths as his chest expanded against her back. Claire knew the answer without needing to ask it. Owen was physical, he liked to touch her, hand always on the small of her back, her side, her arm, or holding her hand. He wasn’t a hugger beyond pulling her into his chest in bed. This was Owen draping himself around her like a comfortable blanket, letting her feel the weight of how much he had missed her. 

‘So much.’ A kiss found itself against her neck, stubble on his cheeks irritating her skin for the first time in a week. She missed him like she missed the warmth of San Diego, like she missed their back deck and sharing a glass of wine with him. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she felt her heart thrum in the presence of another, softly beating like a shyly played drum. She had no doubt his was the same, whether he could say the words or not. ‘I didn’t even enjoy it.’ She felt him pout. 

‘Good.’ Her hand found his cheek, head turning to kiss his lips as she grinned. God, how she had missed that; human contact beyond a business meeting. Claire prided herself on not needing anyone, Owen never made her feel weak for enjoying the feel of his lips or the touch of his hand, she craved him beyond the sexual sometimes, Owen giving in to a hug when she asked softly, arms wrapping around him. She turned in her chair to fold herself into him properly, head falling to his chest. ‘I missed this. Us, the house, San Diego …’ her voice trailed off, eyes watching the glass doors that lead to the back deck. ‘We made the right choice.’ Claire had wondered for weeks if this fit would work, if they could work - moving to a new city, starting their lives again, beginning to know the other beyond his boyish jokes and self sabotage. Owen had convinced her it would all work out. She trusted him; it was the right move. 

For the moment, Claire was happy to sit there, living in the warmth California supplied, wrapped in a special blend of Owen Grady as she thought about their boring time apart. Eventually they would move out to the deck, wine in hand, sun beginning to set. He would order them Chinese or prepare an easy salad. Beyond that the sex would be slow, gentle, reuniting of two bodies that were barely apart and yet it felt like a lifetime. She wouldn’t promise to turn down her next business trip. Claire would take it. Owen wanted her to. It was how they worked, ebbing in and out of their home, completing their miscellaneous tasks either together or apart. 

They didn’t always need to be together. 

Reuniting was half the fun. 


	155. #155 - I'm Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Zara and Barry realising that Owen and Claire are dating when they find the two of them making out in an empty conference room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes with a warning of capital S. M. U. T. 
> 
> Still super uncomfortable and I don’t remember 100% where the idea came from other than it’s not very close to the prompt. In saying that, don’t ever say I can’t write long fics for clawen that don’t involve kids. :P

 

What her sponsors asked for, Claire delivered. Leading big time investors around the park always ended with a drink, something that stung the back of their throats and left them to stumble back to their hotel rooms on their own. Usually, she took them to the restaurant, where they could sit at the high-class bar and talk business while Claire sipped on a gin and tonic and they drowned whisky in ice. 

There was always going to be something different to her plan. Claire had always been one who knew how to adapt, accepting her surroundings and leading them off a different path. The investors she was granted with for the week, were new money, a little less kept than others she dealt with. No big brand names or company slogans, just independent thrill seekers looking for a piece of Jurassic World. She couldn’t take them to the same luxurious place she took the others. They simply wouldn’t fit in there and considering that they were already loud, despite consuming no alcohol, Claire didn’t want to bother the other patrons. 

The small bar they built just off Main Street was used mostly, by staff. It was traditional; live music, football games, and pure noise. It smelt of damp wood, alcohol burning through the bar’s resin as drinks overflowed or were handled sloppily. 

They sat at the bar and ordered beers, eagerly guzzling them down like they hadn’t seen a drink all day before promptly ordering another. Claire sipped on her gin and tonic. 

Someone in one of the back booths caught her eye. Claire could have sworn that she could pick Owen Grady out of a crowded room. She did exactly that, lips to her straw, eyes dancing at the bar, hoping time would pass enough to allow her polite escape. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him for a minute, too caught on watching the way he nibbled on some other woman’s neck. 

She and Owen had never been on good terms. He rubbed her up the wrong way for the hell of it and in turn, Claire built up her defences. He made her eyes roll and her blood bubble, he was insufferable, flesh and blood man who thought with his sexual urges more than anything else. Claire should have known to expect it from an animal behaviouralist. She should have known that she would eventually walk in on him, playboy, fucking one of the interns the island buzzed about. Everyone knew what he was doing. No one was in the place to stop him. Fraternising wasn’t exactly banned, leaving Owen free from breaking any rules.

Claire hadn’t been able to look at him straight since the week before. Not only did he have the brazen _guts_ to sleep with interns, Owen carried out his affairs in the small onsite office that served the Velociraptor compound. Claire didn’t have the thought of mind to knock, allowing herself to be greeted by Owen’s hips pounding into the intern who had barely finished her orientation. Worse yet, Claire’s intrusion didn’t stop him. Owen only grunted that she could leave her files on the desk beside the door, as the intern giggled around a sharp moan. 

She was still trying to scrub that sound out of her memory along with the image of his muscles flexing. His grunt was raw, enough to make her skin tingle and for Claire to hate herself for the thought. She would be lying if she didn’t admit to wandering thought, his hands on her hips, his groan in her ear. She almost wanted him to fuck her to abandon no matter who waltzed in the door. 

He was haunting her, mind body and spirit. It was only her luck that he was in the same bar she was, hidden away in a corner, glasses lining his table and barely legal young woman practically poured into his lap. Owen lifted his head, eyes turning to the full bar as Claire jumped, shifting her hips to turn her stool before he could notice her. When she turned back, Owen’s eyes were glued to her, smirk creasing his cheeks. His attention was pulled completely from the girl who was toying her fingers through his hair, her mouth glued to his neck. Claire tried to grimace, focusing on a glare as Owen winked, his smile growing. 

Flustered, Claire turned back to her investors, all too eager to bid them goodnight. Escaping Owen Grady was never going to be that easy. They wanted her to stay, practically begged, buying her a drink before she could refuse as one leant in and asked about the _benefits_ of being a Jurassic World investor. How one drink turned into two more, Claire wasn’t entirely sure. She swung her chair back and forth occasionally, eyeing off Owen and his plaything. 

Claire almost couldn’t believe it when the girl stopped beside her, elbows falling to the bar as she called out her order to the bartender. ‘He’s a stallion.’ The girl giggled, freckles still sweet on her cheeks as she half turned to Claire. She cleared her throat, watching the girl quizzically as the bartender handed over the shot she ordered. 

‘Excuse me?’ Claire asked, watching the girl down the drink without a thought, face contorting slightly as it burnt down her throat. 

‘Owen,’ she answered. ‘You’ve been watching him all night. We’re not a thing. I don’t mind if you ride him once or twice.’ The girl giggled, brown hair tossed over her shoulder as she winked again hazel eyes glossed over with consumption. ‘I know you’re interested … he is too.’ 

Claire had never sought anyone’s approval in her life. Suddenly, with the girl out the door, her words ringing in Claire’s ears; all she wanted to do was corner Owen. She couldn’t help the low burn in her gut and twitch in her thighs. Something in her needed to reach out to him, a daring voice sweetly singing in the back of her mind. 

Her investors were out the door a second later, bidding goodnight as their drinks finally overcame them bodies too woozy to hold up the conversation any longer. Claire sat on her own for a minute, breathing deeply as she contemplated the ins and outs of her idea. She pushed herself from the bar without another thought, heels clicking on the sticky floors as she crossed the room to stand in front of his booth. 

Owen only stared at her, a slight smirk on his lips as he held a glass to his mouth. Claire met his gaze, staring him down as her mind froze. She had managed to get to him but nothing was coming out of her mouth. Shots lined the table, a few glasses empty, two still filled to the brim with amber liquid. 

Claire wasn’t entirely sure what it was within her that scooped both glasses up before she knocked back each shot of tequila, hand wiping across her mouth when she was done. ‘I’m game.’ She announced slamming the shot glasses back down onto the table. Owen only gaped at her, the quietest, _‘they were mine’_ , falling from his mouth. When he didn’t give her a response, only a quirked brow, Claire felt the need to elaborate. ‘I want you to treat me like one of those interns.’ 

His grin grew, wide and mischievous like the Cheshire Cat from her favourite story books. ‘I love ‘em and leave ‘em, Claire.’ Owen grumbled, leaning into her as he slipped across the booth’s bench seat, watching her like she was a meal. 

‘I know,’ her voice was quiet, almost scared, almost meek as it shook the slightest bit. His hands were on her hips the second she vocalised her understanding, yanking her down beside him. Claire’s hand fell on his lap to steady herself, aim off just slightly as she realised he was already hard in his pants, either from her or the companion who just left him. Even without knowing, Claire felt her cheeks burn red hot. 

She felt as though she was staring at him with eyes half closed, lids heavy as their eyes met. His breath was hot against her neck, puffs of air sending tingles down her spine. Claire had felt her mouth opening, breath just as impatient as his as her heartbeat started to climb. She knew, without a doubt, that she kissed him first. Temptation was the cruel mistress that pulled her in, lips touching his tentatively, flesh gracing flesh, feeling him out for a brief moment before she dived in. 

Owen was hot and heavy, fast and all at once. He pulled her, hands on her hips, into his lap where his fingers began to climb up the inside of her thigh; thankful for the skirt. She almost bit right through his lip when she felt his fingers pluck at her underwear. She failed to catch his wrist before his thumb flicked at her clit, body shuddering in response as her fingers clamped down on his hand. ‘Owen,’ she hissed, head pulling from his as her eyes scanned the room. 

‘You said _‘like one of the interns’_ ,’ he offered with a shrug. His grin climbed across his face, settling high on his cheeks as his fingers twitched, challenging her, Claire’s body jumping in response. She failed that test of self-control, Owen’s grin only widening against her cheeks as his tongue traced the layout of her teeth. 

Not once did she think this was a bad idea. Claire had prepared herself in seducing Owen or at least, he had prepared her. Endless flirting and insinuation brought them to this point, Claire talking herself up for the day that she would just get him out of her system and move on. He couldn’t hurt her that way. If she was only there to fuck him out of her thoughts then there was no way she would get attached. If that failed; Claire had a backup plan. 

Masrani was keeping her off island for the next fortnight, sending Claire to New York to see what she could stir up there for Jurassic World before returning again. If this thing with Owen went bad, if she woke in the morning and felt like it was all one big mistake, she had the opportunity to erase her mind _away_ from him. No dinosaurs. No paperwork. No reminders. Just distance and a hotel suite with a devilish bathtub. 

‘We can’t do this here,’ she panted against his cheek, arm curled around his head as her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Owen’s mouth was burning wet kisses against the tops of her breasts, blouse nudged aside by his nose as his touched explored. He had a hand squeezing the flesh of her upper thigh, fingers occasionally flicking at the fabric of her skirt while the other hand was preoccupied inside the soft satin of her underwear. Her chest was heaving like she was in the midsts of a marathon, skin burning red, sweat already starting to dampen her skin. 

Claire was practically holding her breath in wait for the moment they were caught. Any minute now one of the bar staff were bound to wander in their direction and catch her skirt around her hips, Claire on the brink of an orgasm. She wasn’t sure if it would turn her off or spur her on. 

‘Seriously, O - Owen, we need to relocate.’ Her breath caught on his name, thumb swirling around her clit again, catching Claire completely unaware despite her increasing knowledge in how he played the game. He chuckled against her breast, leaving the soft skin there to kiss her neck, hands pulling away from her. Claire didn’t think she would whimper at the loss of Owen’s touch, or feel the sting of rejection when his large hands pushed her hips away from him. Claire, so far, had been wrong. 

He followed her out of the bar, body close behind hers as his fingers lingered on the small of her back. Something told her to run. A small spark in the back of her mind, telling her she was in too deep already, that she needed to take off on her wobbly legs while she still could. The second she got him inside her apartment would be the end of her ability to say no. 

Claire was right in her assumptions. He had her against the back of her front door the second they stepped inside. She was in no position to kick him out now, not that Claire wanted to as his fingers trailed across her curves, making her whimper in need.

She didn't know what it was within him that made her react so vocally, small sounds of need fluttering past her lips with every move of his lips and fingers. She had never been as vocal as she felt she was now. Every breath left her with a sound, every thought of need was a tremor from her throat. She wanted to curse him for making her feel that way, body already humming larger than life as she squirmed against the door. 

It wasn’t hard to flip them, Owen following her movements without argument. She grinned, leaning into his kiss, her hands on his chest as Owen stood under her control. Nimble fingers slipped between the hem of his trousers and the flesh of his hip, fidgeting with the fabric as he hissed against her lips. She made quick work of his belt buckle, loosening it before shoving his pants down his thighs. Claire lowered herself, lips pulling from his to drag down Owen’s chest. She didn’t stop until she was on her knees, face to face with his erection, teeth in her bottom lip and grin on her face. 

He looked to be contemplating something, gritting his teeth with eyes closed as he inhaled rather than let it go. It took all of Owen’s strength to pull her up to her feet, shaking his head with a slight laugh. ‘You don’t have to do that.’ His voice was soft, something telling Claire that he wasn’t the kind to turn away a blow job. His hands pulled at the underside of her arms, encouraging her to stand as he bent to meet her halfway. 

He was hot, cold, and all over her at once. His touch was rough, calloused hands gripping and squeezing too tight as his teeth nipped at her skin. There was a curse on the tip of her tongue, word pushing it's way out with an exhale of her breath. Owen grinned against her skin, hands sliding up the back of her thighs, the strength of his arms lifting her from the ground. He staggered, holding her weight as he stumbled through her apartment, Claire's lips caught with his. She felt the kitchen counter under her thighs before she realised he didn't manage to move them far. 

There were no complaints on her behalf as he wiggled her skirt up her legs, no part of her mind wanted to quietly suggest she had a bedroom. If Owen Grady wanted to fuck on her kitchen counter, Claire would allow it. It was supposed to be an immersive experience, to forget who she was for the night as he treated her like he did all the young things that found employment on Isla Nublar. He had to claim her as one of them for this to work, for her mind to be able to switch off at the end of the day and forget it ever happened. 

She could feel his fingers beginning to bruise, a hand on her hip digging too deep. Claire couldn’t seem to care. Some part of her wanted him to mark her skin, to let a reminder linger for a few days while she ran away from this like she did everything else. 

‘Fuck me,’ her plea was a whimper, barely loud enough to be heard against his cheek. Owen pulled his lips from her neck with a pop, eyes studying her face. 

‘Like one of the interns?’ He was looking for confirmation, something dark growing in his eyes nervously. He didn’t want to treat Claire like that but it was what she was asking for. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip slowly as she nodded with caution reading his face as she agreed. 

Owen grunted, his hands tugging at her hips and pulling her down on her feet. Large hands slid up her belly, dragging her shirt with them as Owen pressed open-mouthed kisses to her abdomen. His thumbs flicked at her breasts as they passed, pulling her shirt over her head and making quick work of her bra. It was gone before she knew it, Owen’s mouth latching onto an erect nipple, tongue laving over her skin. For a second she couldn’t breathe, air caught in her throat at the subtle sensation, Owen humming against her breast. He did the same to the other, tongue swirling around her skin before he let her go, hands tight on her hips again. Owen spun her, movements sharp as her hipbones were pushed against the kitchen counter. A hand between her shoulder blades pushed down, causing Claire to bend forward as Owen’s other hand shoved her skirt over her hips. The counter was cold against her skin, like putting on a coat that had been sitting in the snow. She couldn’t help the hiss that escaped her, need climbing in the pit of her belly. Claire felt his fingers grace her backside, flexing against her flesh there before it disappeared. His touch came back almost instantly, slight smack radiating in the air as his palm connected with her skin. 

She cried out, the smack a shock she didn’t expect as his hand soothed the spot before doing it again. She moaned the second time, skin stinging as a rush of pleasure chased down her spine. He wasn’t leaving anything out, fingers playing with her underwear, teasing her through the fabric before he committed to sliding them down her legs. She felt the fabric drop to her ankles, Owen’s foot sliding between hers and nudging her legs apart.

Kisses traced up the back of thighs, open-mouthed and hungry, teeth nipping on his climb. Claire shifted her hips, wiggling against the counter as she practically whimpered for him to touch her where she wanted. He denied her only for a second but it felt like hours. Her whole body shuddered with her moan as Owen’s kisses met her sex. Claire felt him chuckle more than she heard it, Owen all over her and not close enough all at once. He pulled away sooner than she realised, leaving her body to the cooling air. The absence made her whimper, plea leaving her lips before she felt his presence behind her. 

She wanted to see him, to watch the lines on his face before they actually followed through with their intentions. Claire’s grip on the counter tightened, teeth biting the inside of her lip as she shifted to watch him over her shoulder. It didn’t last long, Claire’s head falling to the counter as Owen pushed into her with a groan, his thrust slow and to the hilt. Her legs felt like jelly, knees quaking as Owen set a rhythm. He grunted with every inward thrust, vocal with his clothes off just as he was with them on. 

Every part of her wanted to fight his dominance. She had to reel back. This was what she asked for. To be treated like the young things who giggled in his direction, winking and flirting in broad daylight only to get to know Owen after dark. Did he ever actually let them _know_ him? Claire doubted it. Even in her apartment, this was Owen’s domain.

She didn’t want to be an active emotional participant. This was clearing her system so her heartbeat didn’t race every time he walked into her office. Claire thought she could tear her wandering thoughts from her head with an easy fuck. Maybe it would have been better to sleep with someone else, instead of the problem himself. 

It was too late to turn back now, tension building in her belly as her panting became audible, fingers curling as her legs fought to keep her upright. She played the part of an eager young woman, whimpering with her cheek against the stone, curses falling from her lips. She didn’t know when the tether reached it’s breaking point, the feeling overwhelming her with barely any warning. ‘Shit, Owen.’ The pleasure centre of her body threatened to snap but didn’t, the feeling rushing in and out like the ocean’s waves against the seashore, Owen’s hips accentuating every pulse of her body. 

Claire’s fingers curled, rolling into a fist as she pushed against the counter, forcing her hips back against his. Her other hand reached back, fingernails search for his hand on her hip, digging in deep as she slipped her fingers against his palm and held on tight. His fingers flexed, one curling around hers 

She couldn’t help but cry out as the waves washed over her with each inward thrust, Owen’s breathing heavy in the air behind her. Her whole body coiled towards his, every muscle clenching with the knot in her stomach as her eyes squeezed closed. Her breathing was sharp against the counter, panting from her as she hissed through each pulse of her oncoming orgasm. 

They fell apart. Owen stepping away from her with a cocky, self-satisfied grin as his hand scrubbed over his face before he pecked a kiss to her shoulder blade. Claire only crumbled to the floor. It wasn’t the glamorous, composed version of herself to she wanted to put forward. She was still seeing stars, knees still weak her whole body trembling. The floor was her only option as she laughed. 

Owen watched her, perplexed, head tilted to the side like an inquisitive puppy. He watched her shake, fingers trembling, terrified that she was going to cry. There was no answer to how she was behaving, nothing in his book that he had experienced before. Owen didn’t know what to do. He watched her for another minute before dropping down beside her, hand squeezing her thigh. 

It was the red of her hair he watched when she turned to him, grin too bright. There was no way he could focus on the freckles on her cheeks, the flush on her skin, the sapphire of her eyes and the way her hips wiggled to smooth her skirt back down her thighs. ‘We are _never_ doing that again,’ she grinned, still trying to catch her breath through giggles. 

Owen grumbled, still watching the gold shimmer in her hair. From the sound of her chuckle, she wasn’t exactly regretful. He didn’t know when she moved or where she found the strength that couldn’t keep her from the floor, but Claire was in his lap almost as quick as he could blink. His grin climbed up his face, Claire’s weight warm in his lap, her lips on his again. 

‘I’m serious,’ she promised. He was happy to tell her that it wouldn’t happen again, his skin still humming from the touch of hers past and present. There was something about Claire he knew he wouldn’t get out of his system. Usually, he couldn’t get the girls out the door fast enough but he didn’t want to shed himself of her just yet. 

‘Goodnight, Owen.’ Claire’s voice was business-like as if they were both standing in her office, handing over papers not naked on the floor of her apartment. She got up with grace, long legs spilling from his lap as she stood over him. ‘You can see yourself out.’ Without permission his hands found her hips again, pulling Claire towards him as his lips connected with the space between her hip and thigh. The kiss was simple longing, a bid farewell to something he enjoyed as she pulled away and headed for the hallway. 

[…]

Claire thought a hasty off-island escape would work appropriately. Owen would be left behind in the jungles of the island, training his raptors and avoiding paperwork as he did every day. The conference in New York was exciting until eight hours before her departure, Owen still grunting in her ears, the feel of him sliding in and out of her warm and present. 

She wanted him. Plain and simple. Claire Dearing wanted Owen Grady, again. Some small part of her considered calling, pulling him back into her apartment and holding him hostage in her bed. That wasn’t the way the game was supposed to work. He wasn’t interested in her, casual or full-time. Owen wanted pretty young girls only just handed their college degrees. He didn’t want thirty-something Claire with the major management position and stuck in her ways attitude. He wanted party, drunk, giggly, scantily clad women who still had the whole world at their feet. 

There had to be a way to move on. If it was anything, it would be distance. Claire was more than willing to use her two weeks away from Owen, in a place where he couldn’t waltz into her office, to erase him from her thoughts. 

It took a week for her skin to stop singing of him, blood pressure rising at the simple thought of what they had done together. She stopped seeing his face in her dreams or feeling the ghost of his hand on the back of her thighs. It almost hurt to realise it was working, Owen slipping from her thoughts as easily as time mending one’s heart. 

There was a belief in the back of her mind, that Claire had shed herself of him completely. By the time her shoes touched down on Jurassic World after two weeks she was convinced that no sexual thought of Owen Grady would enter her mind. She had cleared herself of him, even treated her mind and soul to a spa day between conferences. 

She managed to successfully avoid him for a few days upon her return. It wasn’t uncommon for Owen and Claire to go days without interacting, let alone butting heads. She thought they were in the clear, nothing but gentle curiosity climbing across her mind in regards to him. They could go on as they had, no need for a reminder of what happened between their flesh. 

Claire thought they were free. 

That was until a particularly warm day sent her searching for him at the Raptor Paddock, irritation burning at her skin as the sun scorched down on her and the humidity threatened to turn her into a puddle. She was just as annoyed with the weather as she was with Owen for forcing her out there. 

‘I hope you know that paperwork keeps this island running, without it, there is no Isla Nublar. You could see the end of your raptors if you keep this up.’ She felt like she was talking to a brick wall, Owen’s broad back to her face as he sulked them towards the small office block. ‘I’m serious, Owen. I know you think I don’t have any control over this project - and I don’t. But, that doesn’t mean you can stop submitting your reports. They need to be signed off. _I_ need to prove that work is being done.’ 

Owen only hummed, barely looking at her as he dropped to his desk chair and switched the computer on. She listened to the mouse click, watched his tense fingers hold it too tight, muscles twitching with movement. Claire couldn’t help but remember the feel of those calloused fingers against her labia, twitching with a different kind of impatience. Her cheeks flushed, the printer beside him roaring to life with a slight whir. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going to New York?’ Her irritation shifted, eyes jumping from the chip on the edge of his desk to the hurt look in his eyes. She only stuttered, mouth opening and closing, taken aback by his question. Since when did Owen care where she went without warning and since when did he start looking upset about it. Claire shrugged, it wasn’t his business. Why would she need to tell him? The last Claire checked, she owed him nothing. ‘I thought we had a good time the other night.’ 

She could only continue to stare, eyes wide and doe-like as she jumped between his face and the printing report. Who was this man? Owen Grady with his cocky attitude and unswayed sexuality. He could rope any woman into his net and move onto the next. The phrase, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, only inspired him to try every type. He wouldn’t stop until he was sated, lips on the skin of every woman. Here he was, hooked on Claire. Could she even call it that, was he really hooked or was she mistaking this for a trick he liked to pull?

‘Mr Grady, I really can’t spend any longer on this matter.’ She could see his report was done, sitting in the tray ready for either of them to collect it. Claire’s head was spinning. She needed to get out. ‘Why don’t you bring it to me when you have a minute. No later than close of business today.’ He nodded, not daring to tell her it was complete.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, dragging Claire’s attention away. She saw her break when she had it, hips twisting, legs leading her out the door without another word to Owen and his crushed expression. 

[…]

She liked the silence of an empty boardroom right after it had cleared. It wasn’t like Claire to stick around at the end of a meeting, in fact, she rarely ever savoured in that feeling of an empty space. Something kept her back today, no rush to return to her office just before the clock struck five. She was free to return home after that, slink into her quiet life with a microwaved meal and Project Runway reruns. 

Claire was one last deep breath away from getting up and going home when the conference room door opened hesitantly. She stared at the space, willing whoever was there to go away and give her peace. Claire Dearing had never been lucky. Owen’s dirty blond head peeked through the gap, grin on his face wide but cautious.

‘Paperwork?’ She asked him bluntly, irritation flaring in her voice as an eyebrow climbed higher on her forehead. Owen nodded, hand whipped out from behind him holding the papers she had spent all day trying to track down. He slipped into the room easily, although not unnoticed by Claire’s critical eye. ‘Thank you.’ She offered, watching his hips bend as he leant over the table to slide the report to her. Owen nodded. He didn’t move. 

‘I don’t know why-’ He began, hands behind his back, feet a few inches apart. ‘-but I don’t want to lose you.’ She felt her eyes grow wide for the second time that day, mouth falling agape as she stared at him inquisitively. 

Claire’s lip curled. ’I bet you say that to all the girls.’ Her eyebrow stayed in critical place as she watched every twitch on his face. Was he sweating? Could she actually see his fingers flutter? Was Owen playboy Grady actually nervous right now, standing in front of her, claiming he didn’t want to lose what they had; a one night stand she ended? Her breath caught in her throat despite Claire’s best efforts, heart hammering as some small part of her begged him to break, to admit that he couldn’t get her out of his head; just like she couldn’t forget him. 

Owen barely shook his head, the movement so soft Claire could have missed it. 

‘I haven’t seen anyone … since you.’ He almost sounded choked. There was more to it, mouth open, sentence stuck.

Something snapped in her, catching his pained expression, words perched on the tip of his tongue. He was struggling to say what he meant, meaning burning in his throat as his face contorted uncomfortably. 

Claire didn’t know if she wanted to put him out of his misery or if she understood what he couldn’t say. Regardless, she pushed herself out of the chair, the item rolling away from her as she crawled up onto the conference table. She couldn’t snap her eyes from his, emotion caught in her throat as her hands and knees took cautious movements towards him, ass swaying in the air as she prowled. She reached the middle of the table when Owen shoved the chairs in his way aside, full body leaning over the sturdy wood as his arms reached for Claire and tugged her closer. 

She was flush with his chest in a heartbeat, standing on her knees on a conference table she used almost every day. Claire’s heart was hammering in her chest, adrenaline rushing through her arms and legs, lust pooling in her belly. She didn’t know who kissed who first, their lips locking aggressively, fighting for dominance as Owen’s hands remained curled around her upper arms. 

There was the slightest doubt that he wasn’t just into her for a change in his regular routine. The giggling voices of young party girls fading from her mind as he kissed her, tongues duelling in battle. Something told her, despite her better judgement, that it was all _her._ Claire didn’t want to believe it, put it down to the craving she felt between her legs and nothing more. Her body would always betray her faster than her mind, but this time they were on par with the other. Each saying the same thing, begging that he _wanted_ her as much as she wanted him. 

‘We _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.’ Claire panted, mouth pulled from him as Owen’s lips travelled down her neck. He only grunted. Owen had a hand climbing up the edge of her skirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric enough to remind Claire that she needed to invest in pants around him. They really shouldn’t be doing what they were. It wasn’t going to be healthy for either of them. Claire could feel hooked to the man and clearly, he was struggling with feeling of his own. It was only supposed to be a one-time thing. 

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the table, legs falling off the sides as Owen hovered over her, knee rising to rest on the edge of the table beside her hip. His hands shoved at her skirt, lips fighting with the fabric of her blouse. 

‘I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute, Barry!’ Zara’s frantic voice hit the air around their mingled breath. Claire’s heart stopped, knowing her assistant was only trying to protect the other man from her wrath rather than the compromising position she was in.

Owen hadn’t heard her assistant, his brow crinkled at her sudden disinterest. Instead of asking what was wrong, he slipped a finger past her underwear, sliding it into her body with ease as Claire couldn’t keep back her moan. 

That happened to be the second Barry pushed the door open curiously, ready to save his friend from the torment Claire had clearly put him under. Instead, the other man stopped, eyes blown wide as Zara practically ran into his back. 

Claire felt shame run up her spine, embarrassment tinting her cheeks as she dropped her head to the table. She didn’t bother reaching for anything, knowing Owen hadn’t removed enough clothing and what could be laid bare was likely covered by his broad shoulders. Regardless, Zara and Barry were adults who knew enough to correctly guess what they were seeing. 

‘Shit.’ Barry swore, still stuck in the doorway as Claire glared at the ceiling knowing there was no way out of this. Though she could trust both Barry and Zara to not tell anyone, the cat was more or less out of the bag. 

Owen shifted above her, body not retracting from hers but rather his muscles tensing in a way she hadn’t experienced. ‘Get out.’ He growled, sound low in his throat, vibrating from his belly as Barry and Zara scrambled for an exit. The door clicked shut behind them, sound loud and ringing in their ears. His head dropped to the space between her neck and shoulder, sigh falling from his lips. 

‘What do we tell them?’ Claire asked softly, hand falling rising to touch his back, fingers tracing small, soothing patterns. She didn’t know if was for her benefit or his. 

‘Do we have to tell them anything?’ He pulled away from her slowly, Claire trying to hold back her whimper in a tight frown. They had to tell them something. It wasn’t as though they could readjust their clothes and walk out of that room like he had handed her a report and nothing else. Zara would have questions and Claire had no doubt that Barry would want to interrogate his friend. 

This wasn’t a one-time thing. It had happened before. There could be no cry of ‘ _heat of the moment_ ‘only living off a memory that was still sharp in her mind. She jumped him at his awkward confession, something her mind was analysing as he stood in front of her now. Did he mean what she thought he meant or did her mind infer something the wrong way?

Owen cleared his throat, eyes on the table beside her hip, not focusing on her. ‘Is this where I tell you I don’t want to fuck anyone else?’ He couldn’t get her out of his head, he admitted, eyes finally leaving the tabletop and returning to hers. 

Claire couldn’t help the small chuckle that bubbled in her throat, head tossed back slightly as her whole body moved with her laughter. ‘You sure have a funny way of saying you like me.’ She sure hoped that was it, reading between the lines of everything else he had said. He didn’t want to lose her, he hadn’t been with anyone else since her, he _didn’t_ want anyone else anymore. 

It all could have been an elaborate plot to keep their fling going. His eyes told her he was serious, hands fidgeting, struggling to cope with the enormity of his admission. ‘I’ve never really said it before - and meant it.’ Claire only blinks, her smile lazy and soft. There was something about him that kept her guessing, the alpha male, the loudest, biggest and cockiest man in the room. He drew attention to himself, even when he didn’t want to. No matter the day or time of the week, Owen was coated in women, practically wearing them for shawls. Here he was, nervous to admit that he _liked_ her. There had to be something else to it.

Claire sat up, pushing her skirt down as she moved. Her hand reached for his shoulder, pulling the man down to her seated height so she could kiss him sweetly. Part of her never wanted to solve this Owen Grady puzzle. She liked that there was more to him than she understood, that on occasion he stuttered sometimes and only around her - of what she managed to notice. He was sweeter than first impressions allowed, still rugged around the edges but not as sharp as rose thorns. He would not make her bleed, not intentionally. She could trust, albeit hesitantly that he would protect any and every part of her without need or question. 

‘So,’ she began, ‘We tell them it’s casual. It’s new. We just want to keep it to ourselves? You can tell Barry as much or as little as you want later, but for now, I just want to go home and finish what we started.’ Claire kissed him again, his grin growing against her lips as he agreed.    
There wasn’t a label they could put on themselves beyond _new_ and _casual_ anything else was premature. 

For now, Owen would cancel his plans with Barry for the night to follow Claire home. They would have sex on the couch in her living room, unable to make it to the bedroom. She would attempt to cook him dinner, Owen standing by her shoulder wondering how on Earth she managed to sustain herself with _terrible_ cooking skills. They would eat the concoction they made together before lazily settling in her bedroom for the night, hands and lips still discovering parts of the other they were only just learning to treasure.


	156. #156 - Last Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: "Person B knowing they’re undoubtedly about to die within the next few seconds, likely from the gaping wound they’re bleeding out from. Instead of calling for help, they phone Person A and carry on a casual conversation as if nothing is wrong, making sure to mention how much they love them before their time runs out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two people asked for this. They were anonymous but that doesn’t mean you can’t blame them. Obviously, trigger warning: main character death. I did, however, try to keep this light despite knowing that Owen’s dying.

‘Hey baby,’ he tried to purr, the same smooth molasses he usually greeted her with. She wasn’t expecting him to call and knew the chances of catching her at an off time was high. He ran the risk anyway, knowing time was running out. 

The dial tone nearly stopped his heart, muscle plummeting in his chest with every ring she didn’t answer on. He could hear her trying to catch her breath on the end of a squeak as she answered, phone fumbling in her hands. Owen felt her smile the second she breathed back, ‘hey stranger’. 

He felt his body relax, muscles easing with the sound of her voice. It was all he wanted, given one last opportunity. He couldn’t see her, distance between them too great for the situation at hand. Owen would live with a phone call. 

‘What’re you doin’, trouble?’ He drawled, trying his best to not alarm her. He had a couple minutes at best, casual conversation before he would have to hang up. 

She hummed, same sexy little sound that matched a devilish smile. ‘ _Nothin’,_ ’ She drawled back, smirk definite on her face. If he closed his eyes he could see that smirk, perfectly painted across her face like she was made to wear it and nothing else. God, he would kill to see her naked again. ‘ _Karen and the boys are coming over tonight, thought I would try my hand at baking._ ’ He groaned again, more for her sister and nephews. Claire couldn’t cook - the same inability extended to baking. Owen could imagine the rock of a cake Karen was bound to face. ‘ _It’s not going too well,_ ’ he could hear Claire bite her lip. ‘ _So far there’s more batter on me than in the tray._ ’ 

‘What kind of cake?’ He asked, trying to conjure up the image of her covered in batter, hair pulled into a high bun, likely dressed in his clothes as their kitchen sat in disarray. 

‘ _Chocolate.’_ He knew it. ‘ _Aren’t you out in the field today?_ ’ She asked with a little worry, voice muffled like she had put the phone between her ear and shoulder. Claire knew his schedule better than he did, the woman studying it to make sure it wasn’t all free-roam guns in the jungle every hour of the day.

Owen hummed, he was, that was why he was calling. ‘The sunset reminded me of you.’ He told her softly, breath not quite filling his lungs. ‘This whole place reminds me of you, of the first time we met.’ She scoffed, sentimentality always felt odd on him. Owen panicked, heart rate picking up, worry seeping into his bones that she _knew._ ‘Everything’s orange right now, gold, burgundy among the trees. It looks so peaceful. I wish you were here.’ His breath rattled, oxygen scraping past his throat, making Owen cough. 

‘ _I wish you were_ home.’ She signed. Claire didn’t agree with his decision, she was right to fight him on it. Returning to Isla Nublar to reclaim and capture was stupid. So, so, so stupid. If he had listened to her, he would have saved himself. 

He closed his eyes, well aware of the man sitting next to him, watching his every move. He tried to picture Claire in their small home, frantically trying to put something together for her family, only stopping to peer out the kitchen window, curious to see if she had the same sunset. He should have bought her a better house, one closer to the beach so she could see the sun right now. He _needed_ her to see the sun. He needed her to conjure the same memory that was swirling in his mind, meeting her in tangerine light where his first thought was to kiss her. 

‘Few more weeks left, baby.’ Grant, the InGen hired gun sitting beside him, peeled at the poor excuse for bandages sitting on Owen’s abdomen. He hissed openly, loud enough for Claire to hear on the other end of the line. ‘ _Is everything alright?_ ’ She asked, voice hitched in worry. Owen looked at the slash marks skating across his stomach, still gushing with blood. It wasn’t good. He could already feel the shock climbing up his spine, his skin had turned yellow and his consciousness felt like it was being drained. He was losing the fight. There was no way he was making it through this. They had ventured off task in search of Blue, leaving the other groups miles behind as Owenchased a blind lead. He was paying for it now. ‘Everything’s fine.’ He answered quickly, staring at the dead creature only a few feet away. Everything was falling apart. 

Owen was fairly confident he was holding part of his insides in his hand, pressed tightly to his gut, too scared to move. Everything was red with blood but the sunset that peeked through the trees, orange like her hair. He loved her more than anything. He didn’t want to hold himself together anymore, the fight was useless, Owen just wanted Claire in his arms. ’Hey, Claire?’ She hummed, lost in thought over her cake batter or the sunset on the day they met. ‘I want to marry you.’ 

‘ _Is that a proposal?_ ’ She sounded unimpressed, like her eyebrow was raised, challenging him to do better than that. It wasn’t a proposal. He knew that. Just a statement of intention. He had intended to marry her. Owen already bought the ring, it was hidden in the pocket of one of his suit jackets in the sheer hope she wouldn’t look there. Everything else was Claire’s property, his shirts, his gym slacks, even his boxers. She claimed them all. Nothing was safe. He didn’t mind living like that, especially when he got to see her in those things. 

‘I want to have babies.’ He couldn’t quite put his finger on her reaction to that statement. ‘I know it makes you nervous but I really want a whole lot.’ Owen didn’t know if it was his mind drifting away or if he simply misheard her, but he swore he heard Claire said ‘ _that’s going to happen sooner than you may think’._ Was she pregnant? Did he want to know the answer to that? He was already an idiot for not listening to her, now this? How reckless could he be? How mad could he make her? Owen wanted so badly to ask, to hear that there was life growing inside of her. He didn’t want to know the truth. He couldn’t die knowing that he was leaving Claire and a baby. He couldn’t die knowing he didn’t do more to stay alive.

‘ _What’s got you so sentimental tonight?’_ It wasn’t worry this time but mild amusement, the smile on her face surely glowing. 

‘The sunset.’ It was the colour of her hair in the morning, sun sneaking through the window to set her body alight. 

‘ _Doesn’t look that spectacular from here._ ’ 

‘That’s because I’m an hour ahead, remember? It’ll get better with time.’ He heard the very same disgruntled little sigh he adored so much, the pout on her face clear in his mind’s eye. He wished, more than anything, that he was there with her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and rest his head on her shoulder one last time. He would willingly embrace her terrible cooking just to be there with her. Owen was glad that Karen was going to be there, the boys too - she needed someone. Just like he needed her right now, if only to hear her voice. Everything was spiralling into one, colours of the world mixing together as his vision blurred. ’Babe, I gotta go.’ He offered her quickly, struggling to swallow the breath he took. 

He didn’t need to see her to know she was reluctant to hang up the phone, unaware that something was wrong but on the brink of thinking so. ‘ _Come home to me._ ’ It had been her thing since he left. _Come home to me_. Her farewell without saying goodbye, Claire refused. He would be home in five weeks. He only had three left to go. 

‘I love you.’ He offered before nodding to Grant, the other man taking the phone and hanging up the call, Claire’s admission of love crackling through the speaker before they were disconnected. His whole body slumped, no need to keep up the lie that everything was fine. The log pressed behind his back had been rough and hard at first contact, he could barely feel it now. The feeling had escaped his fingers, his legs numb, but he could feel the warm tears slide down his cheeks before he was even aware that he was crying. ‘Fuck.’ He hissed to the universe, to himself, to every bad decision he had ever made. 

‘She’s going to kill you, Grady.’ His newfound friend offered with a sad glance, dropping the phone beside his hip before checking on the state of Owen’s wound, eyes flying towards his watch. Time was running out. 

Owen chuckled, the sound needing effort without Claire on the other end. It all felt worse without her. ‘I don’t know if you noticed but, I’m already a dead man.’ 


	157. #157 - To Build a Home: The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-fornicationn: owen showing claire the house he wants to buy and renovate for them

Her first thought was that it wasn’t much. Owen had warned her, repetitively, worry in his voice every time he brought up the property. She didn’t know why he was so interested if he kept feeling the need to tell her that it wasn’t all that great. Something in his head was set on it, begging for her approval. 

Owen picked the perfect day in the beginning of Spring to take her out there. Alpine was thirty minutes from their apartment in the city, Claire’s ideal location. He knew there could be some points earned with the travel time. She didn’t want to travel too far just for work, Owen agreed. But, there was seemingly nothing that impressed Claire in their house hunt. She wanted out of the apartment. Owen wanted out of the apartment, and in a short number of weeks had managed to talk her into buying a house. It was _what house_ that was the problem. 

Nervous energy was radiating off him. He had asked her to trust him, have complete faith as he blindly lead her to a house he _knew_ she would love. Claire wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. It was that even she didn’t know what she was looking for. How on earth could he fulfil her wishes if she couldn’t even give him a list. She didn’t want to disappoint him but she knew she would be disappointed. 

Owen always managed to surprise her.

The location was typical. Alpine, California. Near the thicks of trees from the rise of mountains. It was Owen. Great for hunting season, built in the midsts of the wild. She liked it, high up enough that their view was clear, the sunset and rise easy enough to spot. 

‘It’s this corner block here.’ He pointed, finger lifting from the steering wheel to indicate the corner. Owen watched her from a side glance, trying to gauge her interest as he turned into the driveway and continued towards the house. ‘It’s, ah, two acres.’ He told her with slight worry, trying to sense her first impressions as the car finally rolled to a stop. 

‘Lots of trees.’ Claire commented, hand pointing towards the beginning of the driveway where the trees kept passing cars from peering into the property. Owen nodded. He liked that. Not only for security, but being near the wilderness kept him sane. It gave them space where Claire, for so long, had so little ground to her name. Isla Nublar was home, but it was constricting, holding them onto the island, the ocean it’s imprisoning walls. He wanted space to move, to expand, to breathe.

Owen jumped out of the car after Claire, barely turning off the engine as he scrambled to get her first impressions. She rounded the front of his truck, standing in front of it, facing the house. It was a mix between contemporary and ranch, wide home with a second story, architecture sculpted. He thought he heard the realtor call it mid-rise Ranch, but couldn’t be sure. Like all the other homes in the area it was painted a washed egg shell, the colour yellow or cream, Claire couldn’t decide, Owen wasn’t partial on the difference. 

One look at her face told him she liked it, smile small, rising at the corners of her mouth without her knowing. ‘I can see us living here.’ She offered softly, turning to face him her smile growing. He couldn’t help but feel his stomach jump, anxiety building up in his gut. Liking the exterior was one thing, she was yet to see inside. 

‘Good,’ Owen pressed a kiss to the top of her head, arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her in. ‘Four bedrooms, three bathrooms, three door garage … did I mention two acres of property?’

Claire hummed, ‘ah, yeah, you did. Didn’t mention the lake I can see from here, though. It got fish in it?’ Her grin turned into a smirk, Owen stammering in front of her trying to pretend he hadn’t noticed the viable fishing spot so close to his back door. ‘We don’t need that much space Owen, there’s only two of us and unless you’re not telling me something, we share a room.’ 

‘We can fill the space.’ She stared at him, eyes scanning his face trying to figure out what insane plan would fill a spare three bedrooms. ‘Your nephews want to visit more.’ He offered. ‘We don’t have to buy _this_ house, it’s just another option.’ 

‘An option you’re ecstatic about.’ She knew she had o take it into deep consideration. Owen had not been picky with any of her previous choices, she had to show him the same curtesy. He had ticked a few boxes so far.

Owen shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans, shrugging at her lightly. ‘Do you want to have a look inside?’ She nodded, knowing he had already borrowed the keys from the realtor. His hand left her waist as he stepped towards the house, fingers threading with hers instead. 

The lock took a little convincing, Owen needing to shake the handle a little before the mechanism gave way. He held his breath, hand returning to hers as Claire stepped around him to get into the house. He felt the air leave the room as he followed her into the foyer, Claire’s hand stiff in his, her whole body radiating something he couldn’t read. 

‘Owen,’ she gasped, ‘It’s been gutted’. From wall to flooring, the plaster had been removed in places, paint patched, peeling or not there at all. The carpet, where he assumed there had been some, had been ripped up. There was nothing left but a hollow shell of the house. He knew that. He saw it like that a week ago when the realtor insisted he look first before bringing Claire along. 

‘Yeah.’ He sighed in response, squeezing her hand a second time. ‘I thought maybe we could start from scratch without actually having to build the bones. It’s all here. The plumbing still works, the electricity, it’s been switched off but it works. All we have to do is put up new plasterboard, paint, move in.’ 

Claire shook her head, his name falling from her lips in shock. ‘We can’t afford to do that.’ Her voice was a whisper carrying in the empty room. 

He grinned, smile growing as he stepped away from her to stand in the empty room. ‘Bank foreclosed on this property a year ago. We’re the first people to look at it months. Their asking price is lower than what it’s actually worth. With the money we save on that I can put a few weekends into fixing things up. Barry helped me put together my bungalow, I bet he’d help with this for a few free beers.’ 

He had thought it out. Every last detail had been considered and trialled against the Claire in his mind. Owen couldn’t tell her what it was but he saw himself living there, even with just the bare bones as they were now, he could picture a life. He saw Claire there too he just had to convince her. ‘Okay,’ Owen clapped, the sound louder than intended in the empty space. ‘I thought too, maybe some renovating? This wall,’ he practically ran across to the other side of the room, hand tapping the wall he meant. ‘The kitchen’s behind here. I know you like an open floor plan, thought maybe we could knock it down, expand the kitchen, bring everything forward. Claire,’ he returned to her, hands reaching for hers, ‘We can do everything you want in this house. It can be _anything_ you want. There’s space for it.’ She scrunched up her nose, looking around his shoulder at the room and what possibly laid beyond it. ‘I want you to have everything you dreamed of, Claire. This is the opportunity.’ 

‘Our lease is up in three months. There’s too much work to be done here.’ 

She wasn’t wrong. Owen wasn’t a carpenter, he didn’t know much about renovating a house beyond the fact that he trusted he could learn. To have this place move-in ready in three months, it wasn’t going to happen. ‘I can get the basics done and we can work from there.’ 

‘There is potential here.’ She remarked, voice soft, eyes far off. Owen could only hope she was imagining what they could do, what he could achieve if she just said yes. 

He took her hand, pulling her deeper into the house, only stopping when they reached the kitchen. Nothing but doorless cabinets remained, the kitchen island still in place, the counters outdated an in desperate need to be replaced. 

‘Close your eyes,’ he instructed, kissing the smile she couldn’t hide. ‘Just think of all those home decorator magazine’s you’ve been looking at. The colour swatches, the furniture, the cupboards and bench tops. We can do that here. Anything! We’ll play around, test some ideas. It’s better than living with whatever move-in-ready house we can find on short notice.’ He tried to paint her a picture, open space, white cupboards, light furnishings. He could see Claire bossing him about, coming home with ideas, swatches and queries on measurements. 

She bit her lip, concern burrowing its way between her eyebrows. ‘It’s a nice idea,’ she sighed, shoulders dropping, ‘but Owen, we can’t afford to renovate - let alone get the basics in so it’s liveable’. 

Owen shrugged, backing her against the counter before his hands found her hips, lifting Claire onto the kitchen island. ‘I have savings.’ His answer was simple. Owen needed something to do. Claire found work immediately but Owen was still stuck in limbo. Fixing the house, that could occupy him enough until he found something else. She didn’t look convinced, ‘I ain’t ever had anything to spend it on, until now’. He didn’t know if he had done enough to convince her, or if he had only sold himself on the property a little more. Owen was in love, with the grounds, the space, the endless possibilities. At this rate he was going to be crushed when she said no. 

‘Okay.’ He barely heard her, voice quiet, bottom lip still sitting between her teeth. Owen blinked, staring at her like he could will her to say it again. Claire couldn’t hold back the smile, muscles creeping up her face until her grin was wide. ‘Lets buy it.’ 

‘Yeah?’ He asked, face lighting up with disbelief.

Claire shrugged, ‘You love it here, more than any other house we’ve looked at.’ She wanted him to be just as happy as he wanted her to be. There was no use settling on a property that only Claire loved. ‘Make this house a home for me?’ She asked quietly, smile soft, eyes not quite meeting his. Owen kissed her with gusto, glee spilling from his actions as he peppered her face with kisses. 

‘I’m going to make you the best god damn house the world has seen.’ He pecked her lips again, unable to stop himself. ‘Fit for a queen!’ 


	158. #158 - Charlie and Elliot's First Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a prompt. 
> 
> Owen returns home after six months away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a prompt. But, something I’ve been thinking about for a little while. This is from a wider part of the Charlie and Elliot Universe but with a very small ‘free-time’ schedule at the moment I’m giving you part of it, with very little context. 
> 
> I wanted to write a reunion fic for Charlie and Elliot. Where Owen had gone away for some time and came back; the only reason I could see Owen leaving (because he wouldn’t) would be because the military owned his ass and with the amount it cost to conceive Elliot (medical intervention, why are you so expensive??) Owen and Claire weren’t entirely in the best of financial situations. So, he caved. 
> 
> This is Owen coming home. I will write more about his decision to leave - at some point. It’s not going to be fun. Charlie is a little more than distraught with the news. 
> 
> Also my supervisor said fanfic has made me lazy in my writing - which is so true ... also why I’m struggling to write like myself because goddamn I let go of so many rules here.

It was spring, the warm sun finally breaking free of winter’s clutches to kiss their skin and grace the yard with flowers. It was fitting, for Elliot, the girl’s birthday upon them as Easter arose across the globe. The long-weekend was savoured in bed; Claire curled up with her girls, an endless pile of books and some of her favourite childhood movies. The sun came out just in time for Elliot’s party, nothing spectacular for her first celebration, just family and the garden, bright colours and sweet cakes.

It all seemed too cheerful for Claire’s mind space. She was trying not to be distracted, eyes drifting to her phone on occasion, waiting for the screen to light up with a message from her husband. His absence was breaking her final resolve. They did everything they could for Elliot, Owen was still doing it, working a job that kept him from home just to make sure they were secure again. But, missing his child’s first birthday was a line he couldn’t cross back over with an apology. It wasn’t even for Elliot; the girl wouldn’t remember beyond the pictures they were bound to show her as she grew. It was for Owen. He already couldn’t forgive himself for missing it, but there was nothing he could do. 

Charlie was in her grandmother’s veggie patch, shorts covering her skinny legs as she played with a truck along the garden beds. She was laughing, her toys stuck in a fantastical game as the sound warmed the air along with the sun.

‘He’s going to be home soon, right?’ Lorna was the first one to broach the subject of Owen, sitting around her mother’s outdoor dining table, set and covered in every colour under the rainbow. Claire nodded, movement short as her arms readjusted their hold on Elliot. The birthday girl, herself, was curled in her mother’s lap like the infant she had been six months ago, nursing lazily like she had become so custom to. It was more than just the newfound spring sun that was making the girl warm to touch and lethargic, her attention barely on her mother let alone the people around them. They made it through winter with a few sniffles, nothing more than a single cough. Claire thanked the flu vaccine’s she’d tortured her children with for actually working. Elliot was not breaking free that easily and if she fell, Charlie was sure to follow. Dread filled Claire’s stomach. The last thing she wanted was sick children with no Owen there to help. His mother and father were on board for anything Claire needed, the two of them only a ten-minute drive away. She wanted her husband home, no longer left dependent on co-parenting with her in-laws. 

Claire watched Elliot, her hand gently brushing the girl’s short hair from her forehead. ‘Next month, hopefully.’ He was supposed to be home already, three weeks ago but the task got pushed back. She still wasn’t talking to him about that. Owen agreed on the silence of the topic; he was just as mad. There was nothing they could do. He missed being there for Christmas, having to settle for watching his daughters open their presents through Skype. That should have been indicator enough that his employees were relentless. 

He was doing it for them. Claire kept trying to tell herself. She asked him to turn down the job when it was offered, Owen explaining it to her quietly one night as she climbed into bed. He swore to her, the very night she told him she was pregnant the first time that he wouldn’t leave her for anything. There he was, propositioning to leave for four months on a military-run expedition, purely because they called him. Owen wasn’t wrong. They needed the money. Conceiving Elliot cost them more than Claire liked to admit and although they had enough to keep the mortgage paid, it wouldn’t last them long. She was powerless. They both hated the position it put them in. 

‘It’s gonna be over before you know it.’ Lorna grinned, offering a supportive smile. Claire couldn’t help but return the expression, slight smile climbing her cheeks, worry still clouding her eyes. ‘Besides, he’s not going anywhere again after this.’ She laughed, knowing her brother too well and seeing how poorly distance worked between him and his family. They were all falling apart and desperate to be back together again. 

Charlie wandered over, bored of her game, to momentarily squeeze herself between the arm of her mother’s chair and that of her aunt’s small arm reaching across the table for the party snacks Heather had laid out. The young girl filled her hands, party pies and crisps stacked on top of a sandwich as she eyed off her cousin on the other side of the table. Travis’ three-year-old, Ezra only grinned, sitting on a seat by himself, plate stacked with food in front of him. Charlie stuck her tongue out, the action quick but not quick enough. 

‘Charlie Mae!’ Claire scolded, causing her daughter’s head to turn, the five-year-old indignant. ‘We don’t do that, baby, okay. You like Ezra.’ Charlie shrugged, offering her mother a ‘ _sometimes_ ’ as she handed a biscuit to her sister. Henry chuckled, eyes squeezed shut with laughter. Claire turned a glare to Owen’s father, finding the whole table, in giggles - even Karen who had been sitting beside her, quiet, texting the newest flavour to entertain her hours. Charlie’s _peculiar_ sense of humour might have amused them all, but Claire knew she had a terror on her hands, the little girl only learning to grow out of control when everyone around her thought she was funny. 

Elliot sat up, finished with her comfort of nursing once Charlie had arrived, reaching for _food_ around her. Claire didn’t think she had much in regards to breastmilk, her baby having asked for the action in an attempt to soothe her rising temperature. With her sister’s reminder that food was at the table, she was far more interested; sweaty cheek pressed to Claire’s chest. 

She was thankful for the sundress, resurrected from her cupboard, instead of the warm winter clothes they had all been clinging onto. Warm baby mixed with the sun and Claire would have been a puddle if they sat outside any longer. 

‘When do we get cake?’ Charlie asked, mouth full of chips as she looked up at her aunt, knowing Lorna would have the answers. 

‘Can you say ‘cake’, Elle?’ Lorna asked, leaning into her niece as Charlie turned to watch her sister. Elliot raised an eyebrow at the question, one hand holding a biscuit flat to her mouth as the other had her fingers wound around the strap of Claire’s dress. ‘I know you know ‘cake’. What about ‘presents’?!’ Lorna raised her voice, filling it with excitement as Charlie grinned, aiding in her aunt’s visual and audible attempt to elicit more than a weak response from the birthday girl. 

All the kids loved Lorna, whether they were her nieces or nephews. No matter their temperament, they flocked to her like she was the Pied Piper, ready to lead them astray. Elliot, today, was not having it. 

‘You know,’ Charlie started, the whole table turning their attention towards her as her small hand raised above Lorna’s bent head. ‘I can have Elle’s presents, ‘cause we live in the same spot, so it don’t matter if she gets them or not.’ 

Claire sighed immediately in response, hand almost scrubbing at her face. Lorna chuckled, kissing her niece’s cheek. ‘Not how it works, bug.’ She winked at Claire, showing the woman she could do more than just laugh at Charlie’s antics. ‘Are you sure everything’s alright?’ Lorna asked, leaning in a little closer to lower her voice. Claire nodded, with a heavy exhale, bangs jumping with the force of her breath. 

It was warm out, warmer than they were used to as of late and the baby in her lap wasn’t helping. Claire was mildly concerned that she was coming down with the same rosy cheeks as Elliot, just thinking of the girl’s potential illness making Claire feel woozy. 

Without asking, Lorna plucked Elliot from her mother’s lap, lifting the girl over Charlie’s head before settling her, already trying to distill the scrunched up look of dissatisfaction on the infant’s face. Claire smiled, reaching for Elliot’s hand, squeezing it softly as she made a face, amusing her daughter despite no longer holding her. She wanted to take the free minute to call Owen, nerves climbing her vertebrae with each passing hour. There was no opportunity to leave the table when Heather announced the cake was ready, launching into _happy birthday._

‘Quick, sit with granddad, he gets the best bit of cake.’ Lorna whispered loudly, nudging at Charlie’s shoulder as the little girl ran, squealing, for her granddad. She climbed into his lap, readily, just in time to watch the glow of birthday candles shine across her sister’s face for the first time. 

All eyes were on Elliot, the infant amused with the bright colours and warm light in front of her, Lorna bouncing the girl on her knee as her grandparents, uncle, and aunts sung her first _happy birthday_. Phone in hand, camera open as she took pictures blindly, Claire was too busy to notice the hands that settled on her shoulders, or the familiar kiss placed on the top of her head. If it wasn’t for his loud ‘ _make a wish, Elle_ ’ at the end of the song, Claire might have missed him altogether. She didn’t think he was real, mind and body catching up as she recognised the sound of his voice. 

Claire jumped, body moving from her chair as she spun, her eyes landing on the rugged travel weary face of her husband for the first time in four months. ‘Oh my god,’ she sighed, the sound barely passing her lips as her hands covered her mouth before falling to her sides. ‘Oh my god!’ It took Claire a second to realise she was stuck between her chair and the table, before she climbed over the seat, throwing herself at Owen who only caught her with gusto, hands sliding under her ass as her legs locked around his waist. ‘You’re home; you’re home, you’re home.’ She practically chanted between kisses, her hands on his face. 

‘Surprise!’ He grinned, pulling himself from her kiss only to flash a shit-eating grin. The table cheered, most in disbelief that he was there as Elliot shoved a hand in her cake when all eyes were turned away. ‘Home for good, baby.’ He promised her, giving her one last long peck before he loosened his grip, bending slightly to set her down. 

Charlie had been crying the second everyone realised he was there, voice almost a scream as she shouted for him. Henry had held onto her tightly, giving Claire and Owen a minute before the girl was unleashed, knowing full well that Charlie would not let go the second she had ahold of her father. Claire and Owen needed their minute because it would be days before they had guilt-free time to themselves.

‘Hey, don’t cry!’ He scooped Charlie up easily, large thumbs wiping at her little cheek before he pulled Claire back into his embrace, noticing the tears in Claire’s eyes as well. ‘I’m home, that’s happy, not sad.’ Charlie nodded, head buried in his neck muttering that she was _happy_ but the sad couldn’t help it. 

Lorna pulled herself from the table, Elliot in tow, fistfuls of cake in her hand. ‘You’re missing one!’ She announced, before handing her over one of the adults attaching her to their hip. It was hard to tell what was Claire and what was Owen, what was a mixture of the two of them in their genetics displayed in their children. The Dearing-Gray’s had melded themselves into a cluster. ‘Try not to overtake her birthday too much, bro.’ Lorna offered with a laugh, right as Elliot stuck her cake covered hand in the centre of her father’s face. Owen roared, laughter filling every nook and cranny of his being, as Elle’s face turned red, scrunching into a ready to blow scream at the man she didn’t recognise. 

‘Not you too, baby.’ He crouched, dropping to his knees in front of his wife to balance Charlie on his hip without worry that he would drop her. The girl had a koala grip when it concerned him. Nevertheless, Owen wanted to eliminate the number of tears taking place that morning. On Claire’s hip, Elliot’s cries started to wobble, a hand clinging to the strap of her mother’s dress for dear life as the other shoved at his face. ‘I don’t think she remembers me.’ He offered Claire with a frown around the infant’s fingers. 

Claire should have known to expect that. With no warning of his return, she had no time to prepare. It wasn’t like Owen ceased to exist in the six months he was gone. He called, every opportunity he had, Skype was used more frequently than Claire initially anticipated, Charlie, hogging the computer when her father called. Elliot was a baby, six-months-old when he left. All interaction she had with her father from then on was hearing his voice on the phone as Claire hid a call from Charlie, hiding herself away in a quiet corner of her home to nurse the infant who wouldn’t tattle. She was young; they couldn’t ask her to remember a face that wasn’t present. 

Owen wasn’t accepting her small memory, taking the girl with one hand from Claire as he held a child on each hip. Charlie grunted at the shared attention, both arms locked tightly around his neck. She wasn’t letting go, not now, not anytime soon. 

‘C’mon, there’s cake waitin’, and I am starved.’ He squeezed Charlie, taking a deep breath before he tried to stand, it had been six months since he tried to stand with two children in his arms and before then he had barely any practice. Charlie and Elliot didn’t like to be held in tandem. He got back to his full height with ease, Claire hovering beside him, arms ready to catch the baby he was bound to drop. He settled in the chair his wife vacated, Charlie curling into his chest as Elliot continued to cry. ‘Hey Ma, can we relight this?’ Owen asked, searching the faces of the group each of them watching him in awe. Lorna knew he was coming home, his sister sitting back in her chair along with his father. Heather knew, squeezing the life out of him when he walked in the door, half paranoid that someone was going to step into the kitchen and catch the surprise before it was announced. He wanted to creep up on Claire, to catch her at the moment when she least expected it. 

Heather nodded, pulling a lighter from her pocket, the mother of three - and grandmother of just as many - was ready to fix candles in case of emergency. She kissed her son’s head, readily lighting the candles on Elliot’s cake as Owen tried to cheer the girl up, bouncing her on his knee. Elliot fought her emotions, Claire sliding into the chair Lorna gave her, watching her child carefully as she struggled. 

‘Okay,’ Claire sighed, smile still clinging to her cheeks. ‘You’ve tortured her enough.’ She laughed, unable to watch the nervous look on Elliot’s face as the little girl gnawed on her fingers, looking to everyone for escape. Claire took her easily, sliding the girl into her lap as she moved closer to Owen already missing his warmth after being away from it for seconds. ‘Happy birthday, Elle, take two.’ Claire grinned, kissing the soft hair on her daughter’s head as her hand reached to tuck a red strand behind Charlie’s ear.

‘Daddy’s home.’ Her daughter practically cooed, shifting herself to the centre of his lap, her hand rolled in his shirt. 

Claire leant in, touching her forehead to Owen’s free shoulder, her face mere inches from Charlie’s. ‘I know, baby.’ She bopped her daughter’s nose, still holding to her youngest with a firm hand. ‘Are you happy?’ Claire knew she was, despite the frown on her daughter’s face and the small tear sitting on her cheek. Charlie nodded, curling herself closer as Heather finished with the cake. 

‘Let’s do this, how it’s supposed to be done -’ Owen grinned, kissing Charlie’s head and then Claire’s. ‘- as a family.’ He turned to the table, grinning at the group, ‘Shouldn’t we be singing for my girl, again?’ He offered, causing the table to laugh at the demand Owen made out of paternal instinct. Damned right Elliot deserved to be sung to again, and again, and _again_ until her birthday was _just_ right. They sang, newly turned one-year-old hardly caring as she began to reach eagerly for the gaps in the cake she had left after her last grab. 

Claire let her grip relax so Elliot could lean closer to the cake. She was content, restraints and worries melting away with Owen’s sudden presence. She stopped thinking about the laundry at home, Elliot’s pending illness and how quickly it was going to drag them all down. There was no worry now that Owen was there to support her, no concern that it would fall apart. He was there, back where he was supposed to be; right on time for his daughter’s first birthday. She was trying not to pinch herself, fingers seeking out his for solid confirmation of his presence. 

Owen turned his head, peeling away from Elliot’s greedy handful’s of cake to lean into his wife, his lips finding her cheek. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ he promised. 


	159. #159 - Business Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen is under Claire’s desk eating her out while she’s on an important phone call

They were selfish. She hated that he used that word. She didn’t see herself in such a dramatic light. They used each other mutually. She was easily going to kill him. His heartbeat rose above average when she was around, muscles loosening at the sheer sight of her as he tried to play it cool. Claire Dearing had him under her finger, and she knew it.

It was her text that summoned him, Cheshire Cat grin creeping across his face as he tore away from the Raptors and the task at hand. Barry had everything under control, enough for Owen to slip away for an hour without someone needing him.

‘She called,’ he offered the young woman who was standing at her desk, mouth open, nothing falling out. There was no way she could turn Owen Grady away whether Claire wanted him there or not. ‘Thank you, Zara.’ Owen grinned as he pulled the door shut.

When he turned to Claire, door shut, lock slid into place for good measure - not that Zara would come barrelling in, she had learnt her lesson - he found the woman, who had impatiently called him forward, on the phone. She smiled at him softly, teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a coy play at seduction as she held up a finger as if to say _‘one moment, please_ ’. He pouted, dropping his bottom lip just for her pleasure as he slipped into the chair in front of her desk.

He believed it was only going to be a minute, like the delicate raise of her finger suggested. It was ten, Owen sitting impatiently, leg bouncing in the chair as he looked too is watch for the twelfth time. She was wasting his lunch hour. He fiddled with the picture frame sitting on her desk, perched on the very edge of his seat as he leant forward until that too began to bore him. Owen thought about leaving, his stomach rolling softly, a gentle reminder that he was hungry. Her text kept him seated.

He watched her. Claire’s chair turned away from him slightly as her eyes drifted across the room, mouth moving in some jargon he didn’t understand. All he caught was that she was on the phone with Simon Masrani. Her fingers toyed with her colour bone, lightly touching the space there as Owen’s eyes glued to the movement. He couldn’t tell if she was playing with him, hand drifting to the edges of her blouse, occasionally moving the fabric aside with every sideways stroke.

Something in him snapped, two ends of the string flying off into the back corners of her large office.  He rose from his chair slowly, each step calculated like she was an animal ready to run. Claire only watched him with a mournful smile, mouthing that she was sorry. A coil was turning in the depths of his gut, tightening its hold as he shrugged. She thought he was leaving, kissing her head and going about the rest of his day. Instead, Owen rounded her desk and kissed her cheek softly, feeling her smile grow against his lips as his hands found the armrests of her chair. He turned her slowly, Claire’s head lifting to look at him as her brow crinkled.

He dropped to his knees in a fluid motion, his grin growing as she watched him. Owen’s fingers wrapped around the tops of her thighs, squeezing the soft skin there where her skirt parted from her knees. He didn’t need to push or to ask, he barely had to spell himself out to her when her knees parted, legs separating as he pressed a kiss to her warm skin.

‘Owen,’ she hissed softly, hand covering the receiver of her phone, ‘no’. She kicked her leg slightly, his hands on her ankles running up her calves. He didn’t listen, only chuckled against the inside of her thigh as his hands travelled over her knees and across her thighs, fingers digging into her hips as he dragged her forward. Claire relented, her body putty in his hands as wiggled a little closer, Owen’s large hands pushing her skirt up her thighs as his fingers encompassed the width of her skin. God, she loved his hands, the calloused feel of them rough against her body, reminding her they came from different worlds but collided spectacularly. If things didn’t work out between them, she couldn’t go back. Not to office working men with their untouched hands only broken by paper cuts. She needed _men_ who fished, who hunted, who trained Velociraptors with their earth worn fingers cut and scared, heavy on her skin but heavenly.  

Her breath hitched without warning, mid-sentence as she tried to hurry Masrani off the phone. For all her efforts, it wasn’t working. Owen had her on the edge of her seat, his lips leaving fat kisses on the inside of her thighs, wet and warm as he climbed.

Claire’s free hand landed on his back, flat palm against his shoulder blades as her nails dug into the linen of his shirt. He hissed when she lost her grip, nails undeniably scratching him before her hand returned to rub a smooth circle against the wound. She wouldn’t say sorry. He deserved it despite the action being an accident.

His arms slid around her waist, locking behind her back as Owen shifted on his knees. She watched him, words leaving her mouth directed at Masrani, as she dared Owen with her eyes to do what he intended. There was nothing in their relationship that said he didn’t have the guts and yet, something in her head wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t. He grinned, smile wide and high on his cheeks as he ducked his head to kiss her thigh softly before he pressed a heavy kiss against her centre.

Claire gasp was loud, uncontrollable as her head fell back, phone drifting from her ear before she corrected herself. Owen chuckled, sound vibrating against her core as he did it again, her reaction not as loud but just as effective. She scrambled to explain herself to Simon, her gasp turned moan difficult to disguise as her boss asked if she was okay. Her reassurance that she was only continued the conversation. Claire promised to get him the figures he was looking for desperately, as she lifted her hips, aiding Owen in peeling her underwear from her skin.

He returned to her, arms bracketing her hips as his hands rested on the small of her back, holding Claire against his face. ‘Simon,’ her voice caught again, in the same delicious way she uttered Owen’s name mid-coitus. His hands squeezed her, acknowledgement of what she had done. ‘I really need to go now.’ Owen heard her phone hit the desk, second hand smoothing through his hair before she tugged tightly. ‘You are so dead.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Owen pulled back, head tilting back to look at her. ‘Who sent that text? What did it say, again?’ He pretended to think about it. ‘Oh, that’s right; _bend me over the desk and fuck me_. Pretty sure that was you, babe.’ He added that she had left him waiting, the tease that she was, caught on an unplanned phone call but wasting his time none the less. ‘You deserve it, you minx.’

‘Did I tell you to stop?’ She asked, smile biting at her cheeks as her fingers tugged on his hair again. Owen smirked, no say in the matter as he pecked the top of her thigh, muttering a quiet ‘ _yes ma’am’_ to himself.


	160. #160 - Charlie and Daddy Goes Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prequel to #158 - Charlie and Elliot's First Birthday. Owen tells Claire about his new job offer + the subsequent events that follow.

Owen’s favourite part of the day was coming home. It had been like that since he was a little boy, reaching the home stretch on their walks from the park, or the drive from the supermarket. At school, he couldn’t wait for the final bell before he passed through the gates. In the military Owen always counted down the days until training was complete, mission over, the task at had signed off before he could leave.

Whether he was returning to his childhood home or base housing, even the bungalow, he occupied on Isla Nublar. Owen was happy to head for it. Even once Jurassic World fell apart in his hands, moving from the island with nothing to a small hotel room in Costa Rica, eventually a slightly bigger apartment before he and Claire shared in the down payment for a modest house in San Diego. Home was wherever Owen could lay his head. In recent years, since the birth of his daughters, Owen was able to redefine the definition. Home was where his family was, specifically that of his wife and daughters. Even his mother had managed the move to San Diego, packing up the home she had built to be closer to her only grandchildren.

It was exhausting days that drove him home a little harder. He itched to walk through that door, to hear Charlie’s excited voice squealing with laughter as she barrelled towards him, arms flung wide. That afternoon was no different, gruelling day weighing on his shoulders as Owen slid from his car. He could hear Charlie already, the upstairs curtain in her window shimmering with movement, telling him the girl had spied his arrival from her bedroom. She was calling out ‘ _daddy’s home_ ’ as she moved, loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear.

Owen had his key in the door before she reached the bottom of the stairs, her eyes alight at the sight of her father in the doorway. With butterfly wings strapped unevenly to her back, Charlie ran full pelt for her father, Owen scooping the girl up and into his arms before covering her in kisses.

‘Was work good?’ The girl asked, watching her father’s face.

Owen sighed, ‘Work was horrendous’. He told her with a heavy sigh, the girl frowning as she accepted his words with a kiss to his cheek. ‘And school?’

The girl mocked her father’s sigh, shoulders sagging as she sat in his arms. ‘I like school,’ She told him easily, matter of fact slipping from her tongue with a nod of her head. Owen chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her cheek again.

Claire appeared around the corner with a welcoming smile, grinning at the sight of her husband home, his arms filled with their child. She kissed him sweetly, quietly asking about his day as her finger swiped over his cheek. He grumbled in response, savouring her touch with a promise that they would discuss it later; minus the child.

She nodded, easily accepting his aversion as her eyes lit up. ‘Guess what Elliot did today?’ She asked him, eyes on Charlie as the girl wriggled with excitement, seconds away from screeching in her father’s ear. Owen practically forgot about the second addition to their family, the child not present in the hallway, her mother absent without her. He took a single sidestep into the living room to see the baby lying on her back arms not quite long enough to reach the noisy toys above her head.

His eyes lit up just as Claire’s had done, Charlie’s excitement vibrating in his chest. ‘What?’ The girls were marvels, magical creatures who managed to keep him on his toes whenever they could. Owen knew he was capable of pride so deep it grew in his bones, the Velociraptors he raised on Jurassic World filled him with a similar passion. Every time they learnt something new and acted on it, Owen couldn’t help but boast. He was the same with his daughter’s the slightest achievement award worthy in their home. Everything Charlie did was met with a whoop and cheer, it was no different for Elliot.

Owen toed off his boots before stepping any further into the carpeted room. With Charlie on his hip and Claire a step in front of him, he moved for Elliot. ‘What did you do, baby?’ He asked the child in a warm tone, words animated to catch her attention. Despite being impartial to her father, Elliot always managed to turn her head for his voice. This time was no different.

He put Charlie on her feet to get down on his knees beside the six-month-old. His finger reached out to touch her small hand, as his youngest child stared at him blankly. She blinked before giggling, the same cheerful sound she met her mother and sister with, small legs kicking as she reached for Owen. ‘What did you do today, Elle?’ He asked again, voice pitched higher than usual for his baby speak.

Charlie climbed on his back, small arms wrapping around his neck as she rested her weight on him, glad that he was home. ‘She rolled over!’ Charlie exclaimed, letting go of him for a second to throw her arms out.

‘Did she?!’ Owen asked with excitement, a hand reaching out to rub Elliot’s belly. ‘Did you roll over, baby?’ He asked like she would look at him an answer in perfect English.

‘Mhm,’ Charlie answered for her sister, ‘almost nearly right off the bed!’

Owen turned his head, looking for Claire behind him. He found her, leaning against the archway, arms crossed over her chest. ‘I caught her.’ Claire offered, reassuring his worries as she shrugged. ‘No more turning our backs on Elle, hey, Charlie?’  The girl on his back chuckled, her head shaking against his shoulder blades. There went their easy, peaceful lives, only Charlie the trouble maker and Elliot their easy going babe. He forgot she was going to grow up that one day soon she would start walking and talking, asking for money and from him to pick her up from parties. Six months and already it was going too fast. He wanted to stop the clock, freeze them all there and never move from it.

He made sure Charlie was holding on tightly before he moved, arms reaching for the baby as he scooped her into his arms. Once standing, Owen made sure an arm supported Charlie as he cooed at Elliot. ‘You girls are getting _so_ big.’

‘Elle will be as big as me soon!’ Charlie echoed, cheering in his ear. That was exactly what he was afraid of.

[…]

The lights were down low in the master suite when Owen returned from tucking Charlie in for the _third_ time. Claire was sat in the middle of their bed, legs tucked under her and glasses perched on her nose. He knew what she was looking at, without asking, her fingers tapping at the keyboard of her laptop for a second before she sighed and rubbed at her temples.

‘How’s the budget doing?’ He asked, pulling off his shirt and throwing it in the laundry basket, thankful that he had already showered and brushed his teeth before dealing with Charlie.

Claire hummed, ‘not good’. He knew that was the case. They had been in a sticky spot for a little over a year in regards to finances. ‘The bills are paid, the food is in the fridge, the girls are happy - it can’t be that bad.’ She worried, teeth grazing her lip. ‘But, if something falls apart, be it the car or the house, if any one of us gets seriously ill; we’ll run the risk of losing the house.’ She loved that house like she loved a spring breeze and there was no way Claire would let go of it without a fight. She also liked the financial security, and the fact that they were living on the edge was clearly wearing at her. She didn’t want to regret it, to say the last round of IVF shouldn’t have happened. If she did, she would be calling regret on Elliot, on succeeding - and if they didn’t go through with it, they would be struggling with a heavier mental battle than that of a little extra spending money.

‘It’ll work out, Claire, I promise.’ He leant over to kiss her cheek before climbing across the mattress and settling his head in her lap.

‘I hope so.’ She gave him a smile, her hands finding his hair as he sighed. ‘What’s been going on in your head tonight?’ He couldn’t deny it, Claire saw how distracted he was, how clingy he was with Elliot when he hadn’t been before.

Owen sighed, eyes closing in her lap as her fingers played with his hair. ‘I had a meeting today.’

‘Everything okay at the zoo?’ The last thing she needed to hear was _budget cuts_ or _low on funding_ they couldn’t tackle that like they used to.

‘It wasn’t a zoo meeting.’ She let out a small sound of question, the noise disappearing into the quiet corners of their bedroom. ‘I was approached by the Marines, again.’ He felt her energy shift, Claire’s hands in his hair ceasing their movements for a split second. ‘They want me for a project. Say I’m the only one who can help.’

‘No.’ Claire shook her head, her answer definitive. No, he wasn’t going anywhere, they had daughters who needed their father. There would be no ‘need-to-know’ tasked in the centre of the Middle East - at least, not for Owen.

Owen shuttered a sigh, shoulders falling as he turned to look at her. ‘The pay is good. _Really_ good.’ Claire shook her head regardless. ‘Claire, I don’t want to take this job —‘ she told him not to take it then. ‘— I need too. _We_ need the money. It’s four months. I’ll be able to call every day, you’ll hardly notice I’m not here.’ She pulled away from him, sliding herself to another part of the bed as his head fell out of her lap.

‘Charlie will notice.’ Owen sat up. ‘I can’t handle her on my own, Owen. You want me to juggle them _both_. What if Elle gets sick again? What am I going to do? You won’t be here.’

‘Mom and Dad are right down the street, they’ll help.’

‘Have you asked them?!’ She felt her voice rise, sound almost cracking as she tried to keep quiet. Owen shook his head, he didn’t need to ask. They moved _for them_ without Owen so much as suggesting the idea. Heather and Henry Grady wanted to be close to their grandchildren so they could _help_ raise them, something Claire had never been scared to ask for before.

He understood her fear. Alone with Charlie and Elliot, Claire would be their soul provider. On a good day, she couldn’t juggle between Charlie’s often melodramatic needs and Elliot’s cries to be held. Even when Owen was only down the hall, she struggled. It took a lot to suggest she spend four months with them like that, no Owen walking through the door to save the day. He was insane.

‘You’re going, aren’t you?’ She asked quietly, knowing the answer just from the way he looked at her. Owen had decided before they even had a chance to discuss it. In preparing his argument, he figured it all out.

His nod was slow, remorseful. ‘I need to do what’s right for my family,’ he watched her open her mouth in protest. ‘What’s right, currently, is making sure there’s money in the bank, so my wife doesn’t ever have to worry that she’ll lose the house she loves, and the home for her children, or that her husband will have to work himself to the grave to make sure they’re all provided for. I want to see you retire, Claire. I want to know the mortgage will be paid off and that the girls get cars for their birthdays. If I have to miss four months of their lives - especially Elliot, who is changing every day - then so be it, I’m going to have to make that sacrifice to ensure, down the track, I never miss it again.’

He didn’t know how to tell her Christmas was going to be void of his presence. Owen just hoped she had already realised without his explanation.

‘When do they want you to leave?’ She couldn’t look at him, his heart breaking in his chest as he reached for her hand.

‘A few weeks.’ He watched her try not to react, pulling down the covers as she climbed into bed.

‘You have to tell Charlie.’

The last thing he wanted to do was tell Charlie. Owen nodded, softly, knowing that everything was in her court now. Whatever he did from now until god knows when was eligible to be manipulated by Claire. He was leaving her to fend for herself and their two daughters, without consulting her first. She could throw whatever she wanted at him, and Owen would only claim it as fair game.    

He watched her settle into their bed, her back turned to him for a moment before he leant over and kissed her cheek. ‘I love you, you know.’ He promised her with a second kiss.

‘I swear to God, Owen Grady if you get yourself killed - I’m coming out there to kill you a second time.’ She still pulled away from him, despite the humour in her words. Owen knew he wasn’t off the hook, that if he wanted Claire to warm back up to him that he would have to wait until she didn’t want to rip his head off.

[…]

Telling Charlie was easier than he thought. Initially, she didn’t understand. She blinked at him innocently, asking what his new job entailed. She missed the part where he would be leaving until he had to repeat himself, over and over for weeks until he left.

‘You have to go before they wake up.’ Claire offered one evening, Charlie sprawled across her father’s chest, soft snores lifting from her deep sleep. They had good days and bad ones like they always had. Weaving in and out of Charlie’s reluctance to let her father go. She had missed school too much in the last fortnight, screaming blue murder if she was forced to leave his side, scared they he would get up and leave while she wasn’t looking. It was how it needed to happen, Claire decided. He had to leave while the girls were asleep, hours from rising, or else he would never be able to leave at all. Drawing out a long goodbye with the child who had been undeniably attached to his hip from the moment she was born, wasn’t going to be good for either of them.

Charlie _knew_ regardless of their plans, bunkering herself down in their bed as she had for the last month since Owen said he was going away for work. She was there in the morning, sunrise barely poking through the windows of the master bedroom as he held Elliot in his arms. He was trying to soak them both in, Claire had only just filled Elliot’s stomach, handing over the still sleep warm girl with her drooping eyelids. Elliot wouldn’t give him away, not so long as she remained warm and her needs were met. The next time he saw her, she would already be so much bigger than her small form. Four months for an infant changed everything.  

He held her until he couldn’t any longer. He bowed his head to kiss her forehead, inhaling the familiar baby smell he was going to miss just as much as he missed the presence of his family. He would miss their physical beings, the sound of them up the stairs or down the hall, Charlie’s noisy ‘music’ or her games she played on the living room floor. He was going to miss the way Claire continued to smell like Vanilla despite all the years he had known her, Charlie’s mix between dirt and her too sweet children’s soap, and the way Elliot smelt like every baby did, warm and comfortable, like hope, like every dream he poured into her, tugging at his heart strings, making him want another.

Owen settled her down beside her sister, Charlie sprawled across his and Claire’s shared bed. She didn’t move when Elliot was placed inches from her body, her sister wrapped in blankets from her crib. He grabbed a throw from the end of the bed, and unravelled it, tucking his daughters into it as Charlie stuttered a sigh and Elliot mimicked the sound.  

He kissed Charlie’s head gently, careful to not stir her too much before he pulled away and dragged himself out of the room. He had to hope that the sight of them both, sleeping in his bed, had burnt itself into the back of his eyelids enough to remain there for four months.

Claire had been right. Saying goodbye while their eyes were open and their minds were awake, would have been the hardest. He could kiss their hair and say goodbye without the tears on their part. He couldn’t do the same with his wife. Owen could see the tears in her eyes, despite Claire’s best attempts to keep them at bay. He held her head in his hands like he held their daughter, gently as he kissed the top of her head. Owen tried to ignore the grip of her fingers on his shirt and the desperate hold she had on him. If he focused on it, even for a second, he wouldn’t be able to leave her.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I get settled.’ He promised with a kiss to her forehead and a second to her cheek. ‘You look after my girls okay?’ He kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘That includes you.’ She nodded, eyes closed against his touch.

‘Go,’ she urged fists pushing at his chest. ‘Go before I beg you to stay.’ He kissed her, long and hard, a last goodbye before they were reunited. His hands squeezed her, accepting his last hold before he tore away and turned out the door.

She barely managed to catch her breath, tears stinging in her eyes before she heard Charlie stir, the little girl not measuring herself in fear of waking her sister. Claire cringed, waiting for the wail of her baby followed by Charlie’s inevitable screams. She could hear the panic rising in Charlie’s voice, the child calling out for her daddy as her voice bounced off the walls.

Claire met her daughter on the stairs, forcing a tight-lipped smile as she locked eyes with Charlie and her bedhead. ‘Charlie, you have to keep your voice down.’ She warned easily, knowing that she had to dash back up the stairs to move the baby her husband had left on their bed without barriers.

‘Where’s daddy?’ She asked with a quiet voice, worry blurring at the edges of her eyes. Claire suspected Charlie already knew the answer, little girl fidgeting on the spot as she waited for her mother to respond.

Claire bit her lip, hands gently coasting over Charlie’s hair as she leant forward to kiss the girl’s head. ‘Daddy had to go to his new job.’ She could see her daughter trying not to break, bottom lip rolling forward slowly as it started to wobble.

Charlie shook her head. ‘But, I didn’t get to say bye.’ Her small hands pulled at her sleep shirt, tugging the hem down and stretching the fabric. There was nothing Claire could say, nothing she could do to stop the outburst that was ready to break any second. They planned it this way, despite her not wanting to deal with Charlie’s upset. This was better than peeling the girl off her father, or so Claire hoped. Maybe they should have let her say goodbye.

‘He’s going to call us as soon as he gets there, okay? You can talk to him then.’ She felt like he bad guy, villainous and evil in Charlie’s easy going story. Her daughter broke, five-year-old, pushing her mother’s hand away as her face crumbled into a mess of tears. Her legs gave out, the child falling to the step she had been standing on as her cries grew with her mother’s attempt to touch her. Claire couldn’t watch her fall apart, not if the girl didn’t want her help. It took some effort, but she managed to tear herself away, stepping around Charlie on the stairs so she could move Elliot to her crib before the baby rolled right off the bed.

Claire feared waking the baby, her movements gentle as to not cause any more tears. She could hear Charlie howling, mother terrified it would wake her baby and only add to the sound. Claire couldn’t juggle both at once. She knew, once Elliot was securely tucked within the four walls of her crib that she could focus on Charlie; if both were crying, Claire would be left with no other option but to cry with them.

Elliot barely roused as Claire lifted her from the centre of her shared king bed and returned her to the crib below the window. They were trying to move her from their room to her own, co-sleeping a habit Claire was desperate to break since they brought the girl home four months ago. She couldn’t bring herself to be any further from the girl while they slept and with Owen gone, Claire didn’t see the crib moving from their room until he was back. Elliot grizzled her back on a new surface, sheets of her crib cooler than where she had been lying with Charlie only minutes earlier. She settled immediately, Claire plucking the baby monitor from the bedside table and sliding it into her back pocket. She stopped at the dresser, before leaving the room altogether, sliding the middle drawer open and plucking a shirt from it’s folded stack.

Charlie had moved from the staircase to sit a few feet from the front door. Claire was only thankful that the girl had not realised she could open it to chase the memory of her father down the street. She was still crying. Her cheeks were red, eyes almost turquoise as she stared at the door, undoubtedly waiting for Owen to walk back through it.

‘I brought you something, Charlie.’ Claire offered, announcing herself as the girl grunted. She didn’t move only continued with her sobs, the force substantial enough that she was going to make herself sick. Claire held the shirt to her nose, taking in the smell of Owen and flannel before she draped it around Charlie’s shoulders. The girl accepted it immediately, tugging it around her neck and breathing deeply. ‘Do you want a cuddle?’ Claire asked, crouching down beside her daughter, hopeful that Charlie would want comfort from her. She shook her head. ‘Do you want me to leave you alone?’ Charlie nodded. ‘Okay, you can get one later when you’re ready.’

[…]

It took Owen all night to call. The sun set outside their windows, basking the house in an orange glow. Heather had appeared a little before five, setting herself to work in the kitchen, prepping a meal to give Claire a hand. Charlie hadn’t moved from her vigil by the door, not even when her grandmother arrived. She was unbothered by the world around her, determined to wait her father out and be the first to welcome him home.

Claire had settled in the living room, her laptop opens on the coffee table as she waited for her husband’s call. She was starting to feel a little like Charlie, staring off into dead space as Elliot nursed in her arms. She almost missed his call altogether, computer on quiet as the screen lit up with an incoming video call from Skype.

‘Charlie, daddy’s calling.’ Claire called over to her child, unsure if her daughters conscious was still on their plain of existence or if she was in an alternate reality where Owen _had_ walked through the door. Charlie responded immediately, scrambling from her place on the floor to run into the living room. She climbed on the couch delicately, mindful of her mother and sister as she tucked herself under Claire’s arm at Elliot’s feet.

Owen was on the screen within a second, his eyes tired and his grin wide. ‘ _There’s my girls!_ ’ Owen cheered, his excitement radiating through the screen. It was all it took for Claire to snap, the realisation dawning on her and breaking through her throat. She couldn’t hold back the sob. She _knew_ he wasn’t coming home that night, had known for weeks, but it didn’t seem real until now, sunset, dinner in the oven, his face on her computer screen.

With their mother upset, both girls started to cry each of them clinging to her as Owen had no choice but to watch. He knew it was going to be hard, almost impossible. But, Claire had gone away for business more than once since Charlie was born and they had managed just fine. She was never gone for any longer than four days. They spent several weeks away from Charlie when Elliot was born, and though neither parent was there to witness her behaviour, the young girl seemed to be fine. He needed them to get through that, plus a few more weeks. Owen was sure he would be home before they realised he was gone, ready for him to leave again after a few hours.

He hated being helpless in regards to his family, unable to wrap them in his arms while all three cried. He was trying his best to help them, working hard in a job he didn’t want to return to make sure they were financially stable for the rest of their lives.

‘I miss you.’ He offered them, knowing without their words that they felt the same.


	161. #161 - Baby Raptors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ness345: Owen apologising to Claire for the raptors (babies) eating her hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prompt is near 2 years old - I doubt the person still reads. But, aye - I got to it.

He was a mess when he shouldn’t have been.

Owen Grady was supposed to be the picture of cool, calm and collected. He was most days. There was something particular about that Tuesday in June as he slid off his bike in the Research Quarter. They were still a few miles from what would soon be his and the Velociraptors. Owen was still reeling from their hatching. Four perfect little creatures. Girls. His. They were living in a temporary paddock beside the lab while their home was still under construction. Owen, for the last month, had spent most of his time at the Raptor Paddock ensuring every minute detail was looked over and double checked. The girls were going to grow fast. They would have no time to go back and fix mistakes at a later date. Even now, a week old, his girls had morphed from the ankle biters they had been, to stand an inch below his knees. They constantly fought, small balls of hate each and every one of them. Owen loved them. When the project was handed to him, he hadn’t been sure, dolphins were a far cry from Velociraptors, but he was ready for a sea change, in desperate need for something new. So, he took InGen’s offer and wasn’t planning to look back.

The news came the night before, as he was trying to fit in the early stages of training with the girls before dinner. They were having visitors in the morning. Not the typical kind, lab technicians, coming in to check on their handy work, making sure the girls had hatched without fault. The girl’s guests were none other than park owner himself; Simon Masrani and his senior assets manager; Claire Dearing. Owen wasn’t worried about Simon; the man was friendly, joyful, if not a little irritating. They saw life on similar pages; the happiness of the animals in the park. It was Claire. That woman was stone cold and stunningly beautiful. He didn’t know what it was about her, but something made him destined to push her buttons. Doing so only caused him strife. He could take a scolding if it meant Claire would remember his name.

She had a habit of scaring him - only a little. They barely had interactions beyond a few small collisions; literal ones - and an afternoon where Barry had pointed her out as she passed them on Main Street. Claire was bigger than he was on that island. She could crush him in a heartbeat if she so chose it. InGen owned him, but Claire was known for calling the shots when Simon Masrani wasn’t around. That’s why he was feeling off before her visit. If things weren’t up to standard in Claire’s eyes, it could very well be the end of Project IBRIS before it managed to scramble from the ground.

Everyone was on their toes that morning, giving Owen a wide berth as he strolled around the temporary paddock, eager to get to the Raptors and hopefully talk them into behaving. He liked to think they listened to him. It was all likely one significant disillusionment, but Owen was happy to play along. That’s what he was there for. Teaching these soon to be big creatures to behave to a command, to understand their behaviour as a pack and species.

She was already there when he turned the corner. His eyes dropped to his watch, quarter past eight and Claire was by the paddock, dressed up and politely talking with his co-trainer Barry. The man’s body language was tense; his face relaxed as he nodded at whatever she was saying. Owen cursed under his breath, trying to steel himself before he approached. She was early, or he was late, Owen didn’t have time to go over the facts, but he was pretty sure she was at least an hour earlier than what he was told.

‘Why are there two of you?’ She asked once he stopped to stand beside Barry. The man had already introduced him, pointing Owen out to Claire as he approached. She hit him with a blunt question. Owen only raised a brow. ‘You’re both share the head trainer title?’ Claire pointed out with a slim finger. ‘They’re not very big, Mr Grady what makes them need two lead trainers?’ She could see the raptor’s already, girls eagerly jumping at the gate. The only thing between them and fresh smells were metal bars and a sheet of perspex until they were big enough to not fit through the gaps anymore.

He couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from his lips, his arms crossing over his chest as he leant back slightly. Owen took her in, even though he had no right to ogle her blatantly. She was ridiculous, hot as sin, but seemingly unfit for island life. She wore heels in the middle of a dirt paddock, her clothes a soft pink; not quite peach and hiding her brilliant shoulder length red hair, was a wide brimmed hat. More Hepburn than Senior Assets Manager. He wanted to ask her where the tea party was happening but thought better of it.

‘They may be little now, but they will get bigger later, Miss Dearing. Later isn’t that far away at all. Come back in a month, and they’ll be taller than you are.’ She nodded, accepting his answer as he held her gaze, temper flaring under his collar just a little. He knew this was what she was here for; to grill them, to make sure the animals were being treated properly without too much cost. He didn’t like that she was already questioning his process.

‘Weren’t there supposed to be six?’ She asked, stepping towards the paddock as the others followed, Simon Masrani making himself known to the group as he appeared from his car.

Owen nodded, Barry beside him quiet. ‘Ah, yeah.’ He took a deep breath, ‘Foxtrot and Golf failed to hatch.’ He still couldn’t believe the slight grief he felt over the loss of them. Barry told him not to give them names, but Owen felt it was fitting.

‘With names like that, I could see why.’ He stopped, eyes snapping up to look at her as Claire watched him over her shoulder, a small grin on her lips. Was she joking with him? His brow furrowed. Of course, she would have a terrible sense of humour, it was written all over her face.

‘What?’ Owen scoffed, grin climbing his face. ‘You have a problem with what I named my girls?’

Claire shook her head, eyes almost shining in the morning light from beneath her hat. ‘No. Just that I wouldn’t let you name my children.’ He almost felt his heart deflate. He didn’t know she had kids.

‘What are you kids’ names?’ He asked, even though he didn’t want to know the answer. They were probably adorable, well behaved and a little sassy. She drove him mad, but Owen had no doubt that Claire Dearing was the best mum.

She blinked, her whole body turned to him, a sweet frown on her face. He had misheard. ‘I don’t have any.’ She offered with a small shrug, stories flashing behind her eyes as she brought her smile back up to par.

Owen shrugged, cocky grin sliding back into place. ‘Probably for the best.’ He winked, watching the way she turned away from him, unsure if he had crossed a line.

Banter stopped between them as Owen ran a tour of the temporary facility both Claire and Masrani were familiar with. He did it regardless, delaying introducing them to the girls. He could hear them clicking only feet away, throwing their little bodies at the perspex to get to their new visitors. They were little, but they could still do some damage if they tried. Owen had to warn Claire of this. They were going to let them into the paddock, Owen handled them with bare hands, flashing off the cuts he had already received in their current short lifespan. Their claws were sharp, and so were their teeth, if Masrani and Claire weren’t opposed to losing a little blood, they could join him.

Simon was on it in a second, eager like a child visiting the park for the first time. He wanted to get in that paddock and sit on his knees, baby raptors running circles him. Owen let him. He had Barry entered the paddock to show off the few things they had already managed to teach them. They listened to commands like dogs, sit and stay familiar words in their vocabulary. Owen knew it would go away the second they were bigger than him, dinosaurs trying to incite their dominance through height and misbehaviour.

‘I need you to hold one, Claire.’ Owen told her, approaching the woman on the other side of the paddock gate. She didn’t think it was necessary to go in there and join her boss. Owen sensed that she was scared. He had a trail of raptors following him like little ducks, proving that the imprinting had worked. She shook her head. ‘You plan on visiting often? At all?’ She nodded softly, playing coy with him at the brim of her had bobbed. ‘They need to know your scent. Not the vanilla whatever I can smell but that signature that’s specific to individuals. I need them to know you’re not a threat. If you’re not familiar with them, that could be an issue for us.’

‘Us?’ She asked, the both of them impossibly close, the bars of the paddock separating them. He watched her visibly swallow, her eyes growing dark. Owen grinned, so she did find him attractive. At least enough to be turned on now. Or so he assumed that’s what he was reading in her behaviour.

‘The girls and I.’ He offered, watching her expression crash to the ground as heat pooled in his belly. Owen thought he didn’t have a chance with her. Claire was way out of his league, hell, she was on a different planet. ‘They’ll get rowdy if they don’t know you, maybe even aggressive. That could make your visits out to the paddock difficult.’ She sighed, nodding in defeat as Owen slid the gate open for her.

She stepped in hesitantly, not looking where she was standing in the dirt as a tiny raptor let out a screech. ‘I would appreciate it if you didn’t step on my girls.’ Owen told her, bending down to pick up the creature whose tail she had stepped on. ‘Perfect opportunity to apologise though. Claire, this is Echo.’ Owen handed her the creature like she was a puppy, his hands cupped together as Claire fumbled with her. ‘She really won’t forgive you if you drop her.’ He chuckled, taking her hands in one of his to direct her hold on the somewhat slimy beast. Owen scratched Echo’s chin, side of his thumb running back and forth as the raptor began to purr. Claire stared at him wide eyed. ‘We should go out for dinner sometime.’ He told her with his voice down low, their bodies close.

‘As in, a date?’ She asked, swallowing thickly, trying to sound amused by the idea.

Owen shrugged, ‘If you want to call it that, sure’.

She furrowed her brow again, thick lines appearing between her eyes. ‘What else would it be?’ He wanted to say a fling. An easy hook up where he could fuck her senseless for an evening and live with the secret knowledge of how she sounded when she was screaming his name. Owen shrugged in response, happy to leave her wondering as he returned to Simon.

Claire didn’t know what to do with the squirming Velociraptor in her hands. She was too scared to move without Owen’s eyes on her, uncertain that the beast wouldn’t try to devour her like it’s alpha wanted to do. She held Echo up to the light, trying to take in the green of her flesh in awkward fascination. In doing so, Claire brought the baby dinosaur closer to her face, putting Echo in reach of the brim of her wide hat. In a second, Echo had the accessory between her teeth and had tugged with a tougher force than Claire thought she was capable of. She bent, dropping the creature to the dirt as Echo hit the ground running, Claire’s hat still in her mouth as she escaped with it to the far corners of the paddock, her sisters following her dust.

She stood there, mouth open, watching the speckles of creatures in the distance and the white of her hat slowly disappear as Masrani’s laughter rung in her ears. ‘Shit, Claire, I’m so sorry.’ Owen’s voice was next, the man beside her as she turned to him with a death glare. He barely touched her before he went sprinting after his Raptors in search of her had. He returned, creatures at his heels, all had their tails between their legs, but Echo who was jumping with each step trying to get her prize out of Owen’s hands. ‘I, ah, I saved it?’ He held up what he had managed to salvage from the girls, half the brim missing from the item as Claire looked at him in defeat. ‘Look, Claire, I am sorry. They’re just babies, you know?’ He shrugged. ‘Was it expensive?’ Claire only stuck him with a glare. ‘Maybe we can do that dinner as an apology? I’ll pay.’

Claire tried not to smirk, teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek preventing her lips from giving her away. It didn’t work by the look on his face, eyes shimmering in amusement. ‘I am sure we can come to an agreement, Mr Grady.’ 


	162. #162 - Life Unexpected 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONx10 + 13oct: a sequel to #32 - Life Unexpected

Karen made her call him. Weakness in her young heart followed through, Claire desperate to hear some form of comfort from someone other than her sister. He had shamed her, quietly declining her admission of pregnancy before leaving the state without any warning. She _hated_ him. Despair had lodged a hole in her chest, leaving her vulnerable enough to dial his number. 

‘Five pounds, eight ounces.’ She breathed with slight trouble around the emotion caught in her throat, when he picked up, easy _‘lo_ drifting down the line. He went silent; Claire was unsure if he had answered at all. ‘They took her three hours ago.’ She continued, not explicitly explaining herself. He knew what she was talking about; it was the only thing they had in common. Her baby. 'I don’t know if I made the right decision, Owen.’ She tried to catch the sob in her throat but failed. ‘I didn’t hold her, and now, I really want her back.’ Claire couldn’t raise a baby, and she knew it. They were sixteen years old. Owen wasn’t going to tell his parents the truth; he wasn’t going to move back to Madison to be with her. He would have stayed in California and carried on as if Claire and the baby didn’t exist. She could have been happy with that. She didn’t need his help. She could keep her small job filing at the local newspaper, fact checking stories before they were sent to print. She could save her measly wage and buy an apartment. She could raise her daughter.

‘Claire,’ his voice found her dry and stunned. ‘Let her go.’ She didn’t want to let her go. Claire had tried, the second she went into labour she tried to detach herself from the life that was about to reach the world. She didn’t hold her, only peering into the small plastic crib for a second before they wheeled her away. She tried to stop thinking about how she wanted to name her baby Jade because that was the same colour of Owen’s eyes, or Caitlin, or Sophie. She was trying so hard to not pull herself from that bed and steal her baby away from the nursery. She had nowhere to go if she did that. Karen wouldn’t support her. They could barely keep themselves afloat since their mother died.

Even though some part of her wanted to take the baby and run, Claire knew she wouldn’t follow through with it. The social worker had promised a good home would be found for her daughter. Claire had to trust that thought.

‘She’s beautiful.’ Claire offered Owen, the boy still quiet on the other end. She only looked at her baby for a second, taking in her found face and rosebud lips. The child was an angel; even Claire could admit that. ‘They’re going to let me keep a picture of her.’ They were Karen and the social worker who both insisted that Claire give the baby away and never look back. A picture was a compromise. His breath caught on the other end of the line, but he didn’t say anything. 'I should - I should probably get off the phone.’ She held her breath, listening to his quiet sound of approval. She would be boiling with rage if every bone in her body wasn’t _exhausted_ at that moment. ‘Happy Birthday, Owen.’ She hadn’t forgotten that it was his birthday, all day. Even at 10 pm, her whole body begging for rest, she hadn’t forgotten, the irony sinking into her skin with every push she was instructed to make to help birth their daughter.  
  
‘I’m sorry, Claire.’ Was all he had offered to her before he hung up.

She went home the following morning, twenty-four hours after she was admitted. Karen tried to do everything in her power to pretend like nothing had happened. It wasn’t working; Claire couldn’t just forget. Not when they walked passed the nursery window - because she begged - and the baby wasn't there. Not when she cried because her breasts ached or that her body felt like it was shrinking in on itself. She made a comment that she felt empty. For nine months Claire had grown accustomed to her body filling itself with her growing child. She was gone.

Claire went back to school, back to life, back to her best attempt at normal. Eventually, she learned to stop _feeling_ when she thought of her baby. There was no way she could stop _thinking_ about her. Karen got married a year-and-a-half later and pregnant six-months after that. Claire could barely stand to be under the same roof as her sister, the second her Stanford acceptance came in the mail, scholarship organised and paperwork signed; Claire was out of there.

She used her ‘what if’s to fuel her future. Putting her head down and working hard for the child she didn’t keep. Claire chose not to keep her baby, in order to keep her good start in life. If she let that go to waste then saying goodbye to her child was the wrong path to take. She worked hard to prove herself. You didn’t make it to the top of San Diego’s CEO chain without working yourself to the bone.

It paid off. Claire rose to the top on her own with help from no one, proving to Simon Masrani that she had what it would take to run his company. He believed in her from the very first second she walked into his office. He never knew the secrets of her past or the pain that kept her up late at night wishing things were different.

At twenty-six she wondered what life would have been like if she did take that baby and make a run for it. Claire couldn’t help but think she could have done it with a child on her hip, dominating the business world and shoving it to the teenage boy who abandoned her. She could have done it. She was sure of it. Claire regretted every day that she hadn’t realized sooner.

 _Men Without Hats_ was jumping from the elaborate speaker system she bought a year or two earlier. There was a teenage brunette dancing in her living room, singing along to _Safety Dance_ as an adult Owen Grady - very different from his teenage self - did the robot alongside her. Claire stopped, watching them as she stood in the doorway, melancholy smile slipping across her cheeks.

‘I think that was just about the longest wait for popcorn I have ever experienced.’ Matilda sighed, grinning as she approached Claire and the large bowl of popcorn in her hands. The girl took it, easily turning with small _thanks_ before dropping her whole body to the centre of the couch. ‘What took you so long?’ She asked curiously around a handful of popcorn, eyes splitting from the woman to watch Owen turn the music off.

Claire shook her head. ‘My, ah - My sister called.’ Tilly nodded, ‘she was asking about you.' The girl nodded again. She had been the main topic of discussion in their lives for the last week. ‘She wants to come down and meet you.’

‘Okay.’ Tilly offered, the second handful of popcorn reaching her mouth as Owen sat down beside her, his eyes only on Claire. ‘Is there something wrong with that?’ She asked.

Claire shrugged, shaking her head before biting her lip. Her eyes met Owen’s fleetingly before they passed towards her daughter. ‘I don’t think I want her to meet you.’ She caught the look on Tilly’s face; the girl was taken aback at Claire’s honest words. ‘It’s not - It’s not like how you think.’ She gnawed on her lip. ‘I used to think that if my sister were a little bit more compassionate about my _situation_ , then I would have kept you. No doubt about it. She was only twenty and had to make sure the roof was still kept over our heads. I know where she was coming from, I understand how _hard_ it must have been. But, she never once let me think that I was capable of raising you. She got married and had a baby almost two years after you were born and I could never stop thinking that if two years was all it took for her to be ready to move on; then you and I, we would have toughed through it. I always thought she was selfish. I left pretty soon after Zach was born. I couldn’t look at him. I _hated_ him. I’ve not been the best aunt because of that. Because, whenever I saw him; I saw you and guilt overwhelmed me so much it made me sick. I don’t want her to come out here and put on a big smile and pretend like this is a miracle she gets to bask in. She said I couldn’t have you, that I wouldn’t have been able to raise you and get myself through school. Karen doesn’t deserve to welcome you into the family when she didn’t want you there in the first place.’

Claire knew, without any suggestion otherwise that Karen would have insisted she get an abortion. Safe or not. But, Claire was well past the date for that when she finally moved past the grief of her mother’s death and the sting of Owen’s abandonment. Karen had no other option but to let her sister remain pregnant, child services number in her back pocket ready for the moment she needed them.

‘I love my sister, I do. She looked after me when no one else could. But, there are some things I can’t forgive her for. She thought she was doing the right thing by me … by you … look how that turned out.’ Claire offered Tilly a weak smile, cheeks wobbling as she caught Owen’s sheepish look. ‘I know you want to be emancipated, but I’m glad you’re here.’ Her eyes watered a little more, heart filling with the knowledge that her daughter was in front of her, living and breathing, ready to accept the apologies Claire was giving out. There was a room upstairs made for her, new furniture purchased and linen laid out on the bed. She had a closet filling with clothes and a small collection of polaroid pictures scattering the walls.

Matilda leaned in for a hug, wrapping her arms around Claire’s middle, her head pressed to the woman’s shoulder. ‘I’m glad I’m here too.’  Claire let her head rest on Tilly’s, reveling in the soft touch of the girl as her hand reached for Owen’s thigh, squeezing him there in reassurance that everything was alright. He was making his amends. He was there, for one thing, Claire would never have dreamed that would happen and had already expressed a regret in not being by her side. They both wished things had been different, begging a higher being to let them turn back the clock. ‘Can we watch the movie now?’ Tilly asked, pulling away from Claire as her mother laughed, hand wiping at the tears on her cheeks.

She settled on the couch, Tilly in between the adults as the movie rolled across the scene, catching them as the night grew dark and cold, in a warm cocoon.

[…]

Tilly had become accustomed to following Owen around at work. He didn’t mind her being there so long as she kept out of the way. The girl, for the most part, was only interested in the tiger cubs he promised she could play with. He had been lying a little, or she misinterpreted him; Owen couldn’t peg which. She could look at them, coo at them, reach her fingers out to touch, but Matilda could not spend every moment in her day playing with them. He didn’t want them to get too used to human interaction. The goal was one day rehabilitating them to the wild, and if they were used to the smell of his daughter and the touch of her hands, they wouldn’t stand two seconds in the jungles of India.

‘What did your family think about me coming back into your life?’ Tilly asked, seemingly out of nowhere. She had let the family discussion drop until morning, before she started poking questions at Claire, asking about Karen and her sons, about Claire’s mother and her father. Nothing came Owen’s way, and he was thankful for that, until now.

He shrugged, ‘they don’t know’. He wanted to retract his thought. He was grateful that she didn’t inquire into his family when Claire was around, but bombarding him when he wasn’t fully equipped to explain himself was an issue. Tilly echoed his words. ‘I never exactly told them that Claire was pregnant in the first place.’ He explained.

‘You’re telling me that your family doesn’t know I exist at all.’ He grimaced before nodding slowly, trying not to notice the hurt on her face. ‘Wow. That makes me feel _great._ ’

Owen stopped messing with the food he was trying to prepare, his hands wiping on his jeans before he turned to her with a defeated sigh. ‘Look, I don’t know how they would have reacted, but I do know it wouldn’t have been all sunshine and rainbows. They wouldn’t have helped Claire keep you, they still would have moved away, but they would have done it with anger and disappointment. Once we moved, there was never a time where it could come up appropriately. I mean, how are you supposed to say ‘ _I got a girl pregnant’_ after you moved to the other side of the country?’

He had her there.

Owen knew it wouldn’t have changed things for Claire or Matilda. It would only have made his life worse. He could look like an ass for not telling them about a child he was now hopelessly in awe of, Owen was happy for that. ‘I stand with Claire, too. I don’t want them to know so they can come down here and pretend to be happy. You don’t deserve that.’ She was watching her boots on the floor instead of him, eyes far off and distant. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t give you the life you deserved. I promise though; Claire’s going to try to give you that now. I’m going to help her as much as I can.’ They both fucked up. He only wished he had reached out to her after she called him to announce Matilda’s birth. He wanted to call her back so bad, tell her how much his heart was hurting for her. He nearly booked a flight back to Madison, but something talked him out of it.

‘Are you and Claire getting back together?’ She asked quietly after a beat, letting the air settle between them on his promises before she started asking questions.

Owen chuckled, ‘Claire and I were never really a thinglosing

‘She said she had a crush on you. You guys slept together after being reunited for twenty-four hours. You slept over last night.’ It was like she was arresting him for a crime he committed without memory, accept he remembered doing those things just not that they were an issue. He shrugged. Owen didn’t want to put a label on it, but he _really_ liked her, had since they were kids and he ruined her life. ‘You should take her out for dinner.’ Tilly offered, grinning as her eyes finally met his. ‘Tell her that you’re sorry for everything that happened and that you want to make it right. I can spend the night at your place with Lowery and Barry - that way you guys can have noisy sex. Just … don’t get her pregnant again.’

Owen rolled his eyes, laughing loudly at Tilly’s suggestion before he sobered. She was serious. He was enough of a wretch to take her advise too. It had been too long since he had a serious date, enough that Owen almost forgot the logistics of it.

He shrugged, ‘I mean, I _might_ take her on a date’. Tilly grinned, slight squeal lifting from her as she pushed away from the counter.

‘You should take her tonight.’ She offered, distracted as she looked at his work bench. ‘Call her now.’ She handed the man his phone, Claire’s details already flashing on the screen as a pending call. Owen rolled his eyes, half chuckling and choking as his throat dried at the thought.

Claire answered with mild worry, their daughter’s name on her lips. He was quick to reassure that the girl was fine, standing in front of him and in full health. Claire asked if he was sure, causing the man to laugh again. ‘Hey, I thought that - ah - maybe you’d like to get dinner tonight? - Yeah, like a date.’ He watched Tilly, brown hair falling past her shoulders as she bit her lip behind her grin, hands held to her face. He hummed, nodding at Claire’s words as the girl practically shook in front of him. He hung up with an easy bye, the child watching him slightly deflated.

‘She said no?’ The girl asked, watching with her hands on her mouth, almost too scared to hear his answer. Owen couldn’t hold back the toothy grin that was threatening to break past his gums to reveal itself. ‘She said yes?!’ Tilly asked, squealing when Owen nodded, the girl jumping into his arms as she giggled. ‘Where are you going to take her? What are you going to wear? You should buy her a gift! Flowers! Jewellery! Chocolate!’ She was the energiser bunny, bouncing in front of him with no end in sight as she threw words at him before trying to drag him to the door. ‘We have to go shopping!’

[…]

‘Why are you doing all of this?’ Claire asked quietly, her hand in his as they walked along the beach in the dark.

‘It was _all_ Til.’ It was her, in so many different ways. Not only did the sixteen-year-old convince him to make a move but it was _because_ of her that he did. Her presence in their life rather than her words. It was because Matilda existed that he felt the need to wine and dine, Claire, to show her all the stops in his romantic arsenal and that he could apologise for being a colossal ass in their past.

Claire hummed softly, leaning into his side as the sound of the waves filled their ears. ‘I will make sure to thank her at breakfast.’ The girl would love that a little too much.

‘I never said sorry,’ Owen started. ‘Not properly. But, I am. I’m sorry that I left and I’m sorry that there’s nothing I could do to help you. But, I want to help now. I’ll do anything for you and Matildaeffect’m not leaving her life ever again. That was a stupid decision in the first place and I have regretted it every second since.’

Claire shook her head, ‘We were kids, Owen’. He kissed the top of her head. ‘We can’t change what happened or the way we acted. She’s here now; she’s with us. I think it’s time to stop beating ourselves up over it.’ He had seen the way she was trying to heal, watching Tilly as they watched movies and hugging the girl for seconds longer than anyone else. Owen did the same thing. Taking in the child like he was making up for lost time. He was trying to resurrect sixteen years and mould them all into one hug; Tilly didn’t mind. ‘Can we pick her up on the way back to mine? I don’t like the idea of sleeping without her in the house.’ Owen nodded, easily adding it to their schedule of things to do that evening. ‘You can stay the night, again, too.’ He mentally thought to put together a bag of things while they were collecting their daughter. She might not want him to stay full time now, but he still needed a change of clothes and his toothbrush. Two nights in a row were going to take an affect on how well he smelt.

‘Do you think we can make this last?’ Owen asked, almost too scared to do so as he squeezed her hand. In high school, they barely knew each other. Just enough that they passed each other in the halls or watched the back of the other’s head in class. They spoke on occasion, about nothing much, homework and football. When he saw her having a terrible time at the prom, he couldn’t help but try to rescue her night. It fell apart when she told him she was pregnant weeks later; he turned into a jackass the brightest shade of idiot he had ever seen. Owen wouldn’t have blamed her if she never wanted to talk to him again. The first time they saw each other face to face since Tilly’s conception was sixteen years later, even then he was being an ass.

He didn’t know if she had faith in him; or if he could not self-sabotage the one good thing he ever had. They didn’t know each other, not properly. But, they shared a heartache and a common goal. They wanted to keep Matilda in their lives; keep her happy and loved and feeling like she hadn’t lost sixteen years with them. He thought _maybe_ they could do it but that maybe it was better if they did it apart.

‘I don’t know.’ Claire offered back, eyes watching the thick mercury of the waves. ‘I’m willing to try.’

[…]

…2 Years Later…

‘You sure you don’t want us to go with you?’ Claire asked, standing barefoot on the sidewalk, hans on her hips as she looked over her daughter’s car. The small vehicle was backed to the brim with _essentials_ ready for Tilly’s next adventure.

The girl shook her head; the last item shoved into the trunk before she slammed the lid down hard. ‘I’m sure. It’s not worth the six-hour round trip.’ She smiled, dusting off her hands as she admired her handy work. ‘But, I promise, I’ll call as soon as I get there.’

‘I really would prefer it if you let your dad go with you.’ Claire grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as her daughter shrugged. Matilda was adamant that it wasn’t worth the time or money to have a parent follow her all the way out to UCLA and home again. She could make it there on her own, safely and without issue.

Tilly kissed her mother’s cheek, wrapping the woman in a tight hug. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for you going into premature labour and dad missing the whole thing.’ She grinned, nodding at her mother’s round stomach noting that it was going to be any day now before her sibling graced the world. Claire rolled her eyes, taking the excuse and letting the argument lie.

‘Maybe you can’t start next semester?’ She suggested, hand rubbing a small circle over her stomach, worry gnawing at her insides. Claire didn’t want to see Matilda leave; she was ready to say goodbye even if it only meant the girl was moving three hours away. They only got her back two years ago. Life was about to complicate itself, Claire due to give birth in the coming weeks before a newborn took hold of their schedules and promised that everyone would be tired for months. Tilly was going to be pushed to the sidelines. The girl promised that she didn’t mind, she was an adult, she didn’t need the attention of her parents every day. That, and she was excited for her sibling promising that she’d come home every second week to smother her brother or sister in love.

‘Claire, let her go.’ Owen had said those words to her years ago, quietly begging that she move on from her child and let it all rest. His meaning was different now, but she couldn’t help flinching at the memory. ‘Till’s a big girl; she doesn’t need your hovering. She needs to leave now or else she’ll hit traffic.’

‘I just don’t know why you can’t go to UCSD.’ Claire sighed, defeated as she took a step back, meeting Owen’s hand that was lingering inches from the small of her back. The girl shrugged. She wanted a sea change. She moved to California to find her parents, and she had barely seen half of it.

‘Bye, mom.’ Tilly rolled her eyes, squeezing her mother for the second time before she accepted Owen’s hug. ‘I’ll call as soon as I get there.’ She kissed them both on the cheek, stepping back to watch them for half a second before she tore away and climbed into her car.

Claire had been helpless once before; her daughter was taken away with Claire’s inability to call them back. It took sixteen years for the child to turn up at her office, father in tow. They were glued to each other’s side ever since. Watching her daughter leave her life again, made her chest ache, tears bubbling in her eyes. Claire knew that this time it wasn’t a sad goodbye, she wasn’t loosing her daughter. Matilda was just setting off for college; she would call them the second she arrived and again after she settled in her room. She’d come home once a fortnight for dinner and a movie, to sleep in her bed and to admire her young sibling. All was going to be right with the world this time.


	163. #163 - To Build a Home: Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pawnees: Owen and Claire are painting their new apartment and end up having a paint fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another, old and long forgotten prompt finally finding time to shine. Some prompts are harder than others and although this is fairly simple, I had no voice for it before now. 
> 
> tweaks:  
> \- not really a paint fight  
> \- their house instead of an apartment

Claire wasn’t lying when she said she was skeptical about Owen’s ability to finish the house. She knew he was capable of making the changes he wanted to make and if he wasn’t; Owen promised to call in the professionals before anything was broken or anyone got hurt. 

He spent two weeks going over the floor plan with her. Claire wasn’t half as interested after the fifth time; she told him what she wanted and knew he would deliver it without disappointing her. He scribbled, making plans as HGTV played on the TV screen in front of him, boosting his ego and simultaneously defeating it.

They had three months on their rent and within that time he had taken the bare bones they bought and padded them with a little muscle. Not everything was complete. Owen jumped between big jobs, ensuring there was enough there that they could live until he finished the rest. He hired help for both the kitchen and all three bathrooms. Owen did the master bedroom on his own, building Claire a walk in wardrobe worthy of murder, as he ensured the office space downstairs was up to scratch. She helped where she could, pre-coating walls, painting skirt boards, ducking in to bring him lunch, or cheering him on. Barry helped when he could, making sure there was no wall left un-plastered and that Owen had the ceiling sheeting in properly. Claire was confident they spent more time cracking open beer bottles than actually working but with two weeks before their rent was up; she was pleasantly surprised at what they had a achieved. 

He was shirtless when she walked in the door, swapping her heels for comfortable sneakers; unable to walk barefoot around what Owen still considered a construction site. The dump bin was removed from their lawn the morning before marking the offical end of Owen’s beloved _demolition_ stage. He greeted her with a large smile, chest heaving like he was out of breath. 

‘God, I love you.’ His grin widened, eyes zeroing in on the boxes of pizza in her hand, carton of been balancing on top. She smiled, knowing his reaction would make the man putty in her hand. Claire accepted his kiss, Owen clapping his dirty hands together before he slid his grip around her waist. ‘You’re too good to me, honey.’ 

‘I know.’ Claire followed him to the kitchen, dropping the food onto the kitchen island as she heaved a sigh. Her finger ran a line in the dust that had built up on her brand new counter. 

Owen kissed her cheek in a soft apology, his hands already in the pizza box. ‘I’ll get some industrial cleaners to come in ‘ere when I’m done.’ He promised easily, despite knowing they would already have been living in the space for goodness knows how long. He tried to clean as he went, from room to room, wiping down excess dust and shooing it away. Construction came with more mess than Owen was prepared to deal with. ‘Went to the hardware today.’ He grinned at her, Claire offering a small smile in return. There was hardly a day where Owen didn’t go to the hardware. ‘Picked up those paint colours you wanted. Thought we could start on the master tonight - get it ready for next week.’ Long gone were the nights they curled up with a movie. Every spare second was spent on the house. Claire loved it. 

There was something simple and pure she adored about working by his side. Owen was a man of few words, but he never failed to praise her. Claire was confident that she could paint a wall without his encouragement, she enjoyed it none the less, happy to listen to the man put her on a pedestal.

They ate their pizza at the island, Claire taking small bites as Owen gulped down one piece after another, mumbling between swallows the improvements he’d made and the plans for the following week. She had already organised for the bulk of their furniture to be moved to a storage facility with intent to sell it or move it into the house once the corresponding room was finished. Everything was falling into place. A few coats of paint and _their_ bedroom was finished. She was giddy with the thought. 

‘I know you wanted the grey through all four rooms, but I picked out something lighter for the spare .’ Their colour scheme was basic, grey, white, and black accents on the door hinges and taps. Claire wanted grey on their bedroom walls, white skirting, wood furniture. She wanted the same throughout the house, but the fourth bedroom was making Owen hesitate. She knew why. Grey was too dark for a nursery; not that either of them spoke about it. He hinted, as subtle as a brick to the back of the head, Claire avoided all discussion. 

‘We can paint it later.’ She offered, knowing the grey was going to be hard to conceal. 

Owen shrugged, pushing away from the kitchen island as he moved towards the small stack of paint tins he had collected. ‘Just thought, I could eliminate some work for myself.’ He smiled, kissing her cheek as he moved past her. They both knew, no matter the outcome, months or years from this moment he would be wearing an old pair of sweats and a ratty tee, coating the spare bedroom walls in baby blue or green. 

She followed him, watching the exposed muscles of his back flex as he carried the paint tins up the stairs. ‘Go on, show me the colour.’ She gave in, knowing he would only do as she said. She had to give him a chance. 

He deposited the paint tins, smack in the middle of their wide and empty bedroom, free hand reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out the swatch cards. The difference was subtle, when seperate, paired together it was loud. Claire’s grey was dark, brooding and sensual, it struck mood in her heart and home in her head. Owen’s was light, soft, as delicate as a small bird’s feather. It wasn’t white, but it wasn’t her _grey_ either. 

Claire hummed, ‘You really want to do that in the spare?’ 

Owen raised his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, it was an idea.’ It was times like this she wanted to strangle him. He didn’t commit, didn’t take the idea and completely own it. He was waiting for her approval before he surrendered it as his plan all along. ‘Yeah, I mean, I thought it would lighten up the space, make it different from ours. A little more calming. Might work better for the boys’ rooms instead of the darker colour.’ 

She nodded, rolling the idea around in her head. ‘Okay.’ She handed back the swatch cards. ‘But, not tonight. I want my suite finished first.’ She was itching, bouncing on the balls of her feet to have the paint on the falls _finally_. 

‘Yes, boss.’ Owen teased, on his knees as he popped the first lid open. ‘Go change your clothes, I don’t want paint on your power suit.’ He teased, shooing her away with a hand on the back of her calf, promising there was a change of clothes in their empty closet. ‘Do you want me to do the edges?’ He called out, watching her back disappear. 

‘Yes please, your hands are steadier than mine.’ She had already proven to have a shaky grip when the moved from room to room, cutting in the skirting boards in Builder’s White. Claire, surprisingly, made a mess. ‘Ugh,’ She groaned, voice travelling to him from behind the wall. ‘Promise me we can use the bathtub tonight.’ Claire had been near begging since it was installed, time and comfort intervened. 

She reappeared in nothing but his shirt hanging a few inches below the curve of her ass. ‘Definitely.’ Slipped from his mouth, without filter, Owen salivating at the sight. ‘You know there are other clothes there for you.’ She nodded, telling him that she preferred to wear his. He wasn’t going to complain, not when her long legs were on show, practically tempting him to give up on the painting game she was desperately looking forward to. Owen slid a tray filled with paint towards her, pointing to the wall behind him. ‘Just paint as far as you can reach, give me a few inches between the top and bottom, I’ll cut ‘em in when you’re done.’ He smacked her ass as she moved past him, accepting her job dutifully. 

Claire worked as hard at construction, as she did business. Every instruction was taken on board, the woman readily accepting Owen’s guidance as he instructed her with the paint roller. With his phone connected to a bluetooth speaker, they painted in relative silence. Instead of starting on a different wall, Owen ended up beneath her, man lying on his side to paint a steady line between the end of the wall and the top of their already painted skirting. His face was drawn in concentration, inching across the wall with his favourite brush in hand, as Claire stood a foot above him, on a step stool to help her reach the top of their high walls. 

He felt something wet touch his arm, the feeling slight as he tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the very small space he had to work with. Claire’s rolled slid up and down the wall, the familiar sound sticking as it moved. He felt it again, cold and wet, almost as if he had been licked. He didn’t move. ‘Claire?’ The second her name was out of his mouth, she giggled. ‘Baby, did you get me with the roller?’ Her giggle turned into a laugh, Claire trying to suffocate the sound. 

‘Yeah, a little. It was an accident, I swear … I just misjudged the space.’ She apologised as he pressed up onto his forearm to inspect the damage. Surely enough, there was a thin grey rectangle about two inches thick and eight inches long pressed to the hairs of his left forearm. He turned his eyes back to the wall, grunting softly as he finished the space before standing. 

Owen bent in the middle, stretching his back as his hands graced the tray of paint he had been using. He dipped his palm into the light charcoal pulling it back to rub against the other. He stood behind Claire, admiring her ass in his shirt as one hand found her breast and the other gripped her ass. She shrieked, feeling the cold wet grip of the paint as her body jumped. 

‘Owen Michael Gray!’ She yelled as she stepped away, stepping down from the stool as she swung the roller towards him. ‘It was an accident!’ She yelped shock and horror still bubbling in her system.

Owen shrugged, ‘So was that!’ 

She rolled her eyes, setting down the roller in an attempt to surrender. ‘You ruined a perfectly good shirt.’ She pouted, looking down at her chest where his handprint covered a significant portion of the garment. 

‘Not to mention, your ass.’ Owen nodded, cringing slightly at the thought of the paint drying on her bare skin. ‘Better run you that bath.’ He winked at her, not quite waiting for her nod before he turned his back. She moved quickly, Owen barely making it to the bathroom before he felt her hand smack his shoulder blade, pressure remaining there for a second before she pulled away, her laughter in his ears. 

‘Now we’re even.’ Claire appeared in front of him, sway in her hips as she leant over the tub and turned on the tap. She peeled her underwear down her legs, tossing them in the sink as she pulled his shirt over her head, making sure the paint remained upright rather than drying, stuck, to her new tiles. 

‘Don’t blame me when we have to move in before the house is painted.’ Owen teased as Claire climbed in, water only up to her hips as Owen bracketed her between his arms on either side of the tub, kissing her soundly as he wiggled out of his jeans and joined her. 

‘You’re the only one complaining.’ She teased, kissing him back as the water started to rise around them. 


	164. #164 - Into the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Imagine during the scene where they pterodactyls are flying around and Claire’s on top of that thing calling out for Zach and Grey: well what about if Claire was actually picked up by one of those pterodactyls!! Owen’s obviously going batshit crazy, and Claire’s freaking out, but the thing flies her around a bit and then something happens that it lets her go and she falls somewhere in the jungle but is still alive. Now Owen and the boys have to find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is terrible and today I don't care

She was gone in a second flat. One minute, Claire was standing on an upturned ice-cream vendor, scouring the pandemonium on Main Street for her nephews and the next; she was gone. She shrieked, sound filling his ears; then nothing. 

‘She - She got - She - She…!’ Her nephews stuttered, racing towards Owen when they noticed him turn at Claire’s sharp noise. They saw what happened, disbelief making them stutter as they stared at Owen with open mouthed shock. A Pteranodon swooped her up easily and took her away. The boys were shaking. Owen took them by the shoulders, huddling them towards a shop front and ushering them inside. 

He took charge, instinct kicking in as one hand reached for his phone and the other rifled in the store-issued first-aid kit seeking out the walkie-talkie issued to every staffed location on the island, plus some. He got through to Command immediately, Owen surprised that someone picked up the phone despite what was going on. 

‘Lowery?’ He asked into the line, shouting. ‘Lowery, I need you to track Claire’s cell.’ Every staff member, no matter how big or small had to accept the terms of their mobile devices being updated with Jurassic World issued tracking. Most name badges, for the staff who wore them contained the location tracking services. It was for safety, or so he had heard in a debriefing, in the unlikely event that a staff member got trapped by the assets on island - or eaten. Owen chuckled to himself at the time, betting it was the eaten part. Now that Claire was gone, scooped up by one of those monsters, he didn’t find it so funny. 

He hoped - prayed - that she still had her phone on her, that her grip hadn’t loosened or the pockets of her skirt too shallow to hold on for long. Lowery muttered in his ear, the sound of a keyboard being hit repetitively as he moved to the best of his ability in finding Claire’s location. He found something, sending it through to Owen’s phone for the man to use. 

‘I need you boys to stick close.’ Owen commanded, turning to them as if the pandemonium was not occuring outside the windows behind them. ‘I’ve gotta get you to the e-vac centre and then I can go find your aunt.’ 

‘We’re coming with you!’ Zach shot back just as fast. 

Owen shook his head. ‘Nah, I didn’t spend all afternoon trekking through the jungle to find you two while your aunt hurled insults at me. I’m not letting you two die on my watch.’ 

‘She tried to find us.’ Zach wouldn’t back down. ‘We have to do the same.’

[…]

‘Claire!’ He knew they were close, one glance at his phone told him they were only metres from her location. ‘Claire?!’ He called, carrying on as she had done when they reached the waterfall that day. Owen had reprimanded her for yelling, drawing attention to their location with a man-eating dinosaur on the loose. How hypocritical. Owen had a good argument, though, if she even tried to argue with him. He was worried she was unconscious or hiding away where he wouldn’t be able to spot her. He needed to _yell_ to find her and to sedate the panic that wobbled in his gut. 

The boys were a few steps behind him, looking over the jungle they were pushing through, scanning the foliage in search of her fiery hair. Thankfully, Claire Dearing was going to be easy to spot. 

‘Claire?!’ He called again, eyes jumping to the device in his hand, checking their location in par with hers. She had to be close. He started to _hope_ when her location stopped moving, comfort settling in his gut with the thought that she wasn’t resting inside the belly of a moving beast. He shared that thought with the boys, trying to calm their worry as well. They weren’t going to have witnessed the devouring of two people today. 

Owen heard something beyond the crunch of his boots against the forrest floor. He stopped, hand held back to the boys in order to quieten them. His ears strained to listen, hearing the rustle of bushes and songs of birds. Nothing. ‘Claire?!’ He called out again, not as loud, curious. He heard it again. 

The sound was faint, but there, gentle groaning followed by a weak, ‘Owen?’ Without hesitating, he raced forward, legs sprinting until he located her. Claire was propped up against a tree, her body limp, red hair dull and clothes completely ruined. She could barely keep her eyes open. Owen dropped to his knees, relief snapping in his chest as his hands cupped her face. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead and each of her cheeks. Owen couldn’t stop, his lips touching every dirty inch of her face as joy burst in his chest. 

‘Are you okay?’ He asked, hands sliding from her face to flutter over the rest of her body, inspecting her for broken bones are damaged limbs. 

‘I think my ankle’s broken.’ She offered him softly, trying to push forward to touch it. Her spare hand wrapped around his wrist, clinging to the fabric of his shirt for dear life. She wouldn’t let go. He kissed the top of her head before his hands gently prodded at her ankle, squeezing the flesh there and trying to move it. Claire hissed, yelping in one particular spot before Owen let go. 

Zach dropped to her other side, huddling against her as he offered his aunt a hug while Zach stood guard, face a little less tense than what it had been an hour ago. 

‘Okay, we’re going to get you out of here.’ Owen promised, kissing her head for a third time. He couldn’t stop himself. Owen had no claim to Claire, she wasn’t _his_ to kiss or touch, but seeing that he nearly lost the opportunity to make her such he couldn’t withhold any longer. ‘We’re going to have to walk. Car’s about two miles from here.’ She groaned, eyes closing, head rolling against his shoulder. ‘Hey, you should be singing to the Gods that we found you alive.’ He tried for teasing as her hand squeezed his wrist again. 

‘I’ll run ahead.’ Zach suggested, piping up with a promise that he could get the vehicle a little closer to their location. ‘I’ll be safe, I promise.’ His eyes met with all three people there, Gray’s first before holding Owen’s. He wanted the opportunity to prove himself. It was Zach’s fault they were out looking for him and Gray. If they returned to the park like the Gyrosphere suggested is aunt wouldn’t be in the state she was now. 

Owen gave Zach a ten minute head start before waiting around made him antsy. He needed to move, hated that they were sitting idle in a jungle full of prehistoric beasts. It would only take a few more hours before the animals were in control again and Owen didn’t want to be there when it happened. 

Gray started walking ahead slowly as Owen helped Claire to her feet, expertly holding her light body upright as she found purchase on her feet. ‘Owen?’ Claire asked, looking up at his blue eyes, dark in the shade of the jungle’s leaves. He hummed, looking anywhere but her face as he tried to figure out how best to hold her up. ‘I need you to kiss me.’ She whispered, eyes darting towards her youngest nephew, making sure he wasn’t watching. Owen froze, unsure if he heard her. He had kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her temple and the top of her head. He hadn’t met his lips with hers. 

Owen kissed her softly, lips barely touching hers before her mouth opened, soft skin parting for him. He tugged on her bottom lip, tongue tracing the lines of her pout before Gray’s soft cough broke them apart. 

‘I think it might be easier if I carry you.’ He told her, voice as dazed as his eyes, Owen’s thoughts focused on the ghost feeling of her mouth against his and the feel of her thumb rubbing soft circles against his shoulder. 

She shook her head easily, ‘No. I’m not a damsel in distress. I can hobble.’ Claire sounded ridiculous saying it, but she couldn’t just let him _carry_ her out of there. ‘Thank you.’ She whispered. ‘For coming to find me.’ Owen’s hand squeezed her hip, teeth biting into his lip at his impatience with her slow movements. He kissed the top of her head, almost addicted to the action. ‘You shouldn’t have brought the boys, though. Karen will kill me if anything happens to them.’ 

‘And Mom’ll kill us if anything happened to you.’ Gray chimed in, startling his aunt who thought he couldn’t hear them. She had to admit, having Zach there was already going to save her having to walk a little more than she would have if it were just Owen on her rescue squad. 

[…]

Owen refused to leave her side. She was in the capable hands of busy medics who didn’t need his hovering and yet, he couldn’t leave her. He was glued, large fingers stuck around her wrists as he watched the hustle and bustle of the hanger shift and move around them. He could be helping but Owen chose to sit back, still slightly shell shocked about their day now that it was over. Her nephews were sitting on the first available stretcher outside the medic’s set up, eyes shifting between Claire, Owen, and the crowd. 

Families were starting to pour in, accepting the lives of their relatives as living or dead. Claire thought it was a mess, they needed to clear guests and check their health. Having family come in and mess with that system was starting to grate on her nerves. She wasn’t in charge here, Owen had to remind her. 

‘Oh, thank god!’ They heard for the thousandth time since reaching the evacuation bunker but this time all four heads turned. Karen Mitchell appeared in a break in the throng of family seeking out their traumatised loved ones. She rushed forward, arms enveloping her boys as she kissed their heads. 

She watched her sister embrace her children, Claire’s goal completed. She just had to keep them alive long enough to reunite them. ‘So,’ she started softly, head falling on Owen’s shoulder. ‘What do we do now?’ Her voice was quiet, too scared to look forward or back in their lives. 

Owen shrugged. ‘We stick together … for survival.’ 


	165. #165 - Accident Prone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bryc-dlls-hwrd: 'I cut my finger too deep while cooking but I don't want to go to the hospital and you're the med student who lives in the apartment across from mine; why can't you just stitch it up?'

She knocked on his door with tired eyes and frazzled red hair. Her hand was bound in a dishcloth, navy and white, splotched with red. Her face read as an apology, quiet but bashful as he started at her, one hand on the door, the other in the pocket of his jeans.

Claire Dearing from 12C was clumsy beyond belief. She had been his neighbour for close to three years now, and Owen was sure he couldn’t possibly begin to count her injuries on two hands, let alone any extras. ‘I cut my finger.’ She offered quietly, eyes meeting his with a bold determination. She thrilled him like that, soft and quiet but headstrong and determined to succeed. She was tiny for a college senior, almost as if she was waiting for a final growth spurt to hit her. He knew she had some height on her, but standing in his doorway, injured yet again, Claire looked so small.

Owen sighed, tired but not unsurprised. ‘Okay, come in.’ He stepped aside for her, watching as the small woman slipped past him and made herself comfortable in his modest kitchen. Their apartments were the same, flipped and designed with their own personal tastes. He tried not to think that her comfort in his place was because she had been there so frequently, but that it was similar to hers. ‘You really need to go to the hospital, Claire.’ He told her in a quiet breath, her knees bumping against his hips. She was sitting on the counter, raising her height where he could access her hand easily. It had become his unspoken gurney, Claire propping herself up, waiting to be looked upon.

‘But it’s so much easier when there’s a med student living across the hall.’ She whispered softly, her head turned towards his hands, watching as his fingers pulled at the cloth she had used to stop the bleeding. ‘Why can’t you just stitch it up?’ He could, and he would unless it was beyond his control.

From the moment she found out he was studying medicine, Claire knocked on his door. There were days where she needed a band-aid - an assumption Owen adored. He didn’t have any until after the fourth time she asked, now the stash in his bathroom cupboard is full enough to put a schoolyard first-aid kit to shame. It was all for her. She came to him on days where she was confident she had a concussion, a bad hangover, or curious to see if he had an instant remedy for terrible bruises. He thought she had a boyfriend who beat her, until he watched Claire trip on nothing and fall over, slamming her knees into the hard wood of their building’s hallway and dropping her books. She walked into doorways and slipped on clean floors. He was surprised she wasn’t more banged up than she usually was.

He didn’t have to guess how she managed to cut the end of her finger off, blood soaking the cloth in her hands. Owen turned her petite hand between his, checking her injury from all angles. He tried not to notice how small she was in comparison to him, her hands steady in his.  

‘Last day of placement today?’ She asked, keeping up with his schedule.

Owen nodded easily, eyes never leaving her cut as he squeezed the end of her finger softly. ‘Ah, yeah.’ His words were distracted, distant and drifting off. ‘I do another round in November, but it’s done for now.’ She nodded, watching his face as he cleaned her finger, concentration poured into thick lines on his brow. ‘Lookin’ forward to some Netflix then bed.’ He laughed, dinner dishes already in the sink, waiting to be washed when he found the energy.

‘Fuck.’ She swore, hissing at the disinfectant on her open skin. Owen loved the way she swore, the words always a breathless whisper like it was some raspy secret for the two of them to share, something filthy that he didn’t even know yet. He squeezed her wrist, pulling Claire’s attention back to him as he held her hand up for her to inspect. Bandaged tightly, he cleaned the wound and prayed she could keep it as such. ‘Kiss it better?’ Claire asked softly, eyes not quite meeting his as he blinked at her. Owen hesitated for a second before he leant forward and pressed his lips to the bandage on her finger.

‘All better.’ He told her with a smile as she slipped forward and off the counter. Owen thought she would leave, but instead, while he packed away his kit, she helped herself to his couch, her hand in a bowl of Skittles he kept handy as she got comfortable with the remote. ‘Oh, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air! Where are you up to?’

She looked at him innocently as he stood in the kitchen, watching her with avid curiosity. ‘Have you had dinner?’ He asked, knowing the answer was likely no, her injury getting in the way of the meal she was preparing and had now abandoned. Claire shook her head. ‘Do you want some?’ He promised there were leftovers in the fridge, ready to be reheated. She nodded eagerly, eyes following him for a second before she started scanning through his Netflix.

Owen appeared beside her minutes later, hot bowl in his hands. ‘You probably think I’m useless.’ She muttered, accepting the food with small thanks.

‘I think you’re a lot of things.’ Owen shrugged, ‘Useless isn’t one of them.’ He thought she was cute, sweet and funny. She was smarter than him, he was sure of it, more knowledge packed into her head than an entire medical degree could hope to teach him. She held more power in her pinkie than some of the mightiest men on the planet, so what if she walked into walls, or fell a little more than the average person. Claire Dearing could stand up and fight them all with her wits and still come out on top.

She watched him with a curious tilt of her head, food forgotten in her hands as her brow furrowed. ‘I think I busted my lip.’ Her index finger prodded at the skin of her mouth softly, gently running over the small bloody split. Owen didn’t miss it, it was the first thing he saw when he opened the door. ‘Kiss it better?’ She asked, eyelashes kissing her cheeks softly as she felt the cushions of the couch shift with his weight.

His lips met hers gently, barely there and hesitant. Owen kissed her properly when he felt her smile grow across his mouth, her body leaning into his. He accepted her gratefully, hand sliding against her hip as he kissed sweet honey from her lips.  


	166. #166 - Charlie, Elliot and Mother's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Charlie and Owen baking a cake for Claire on Mother's Day!!
> 
> and
> 
> cali-forniacationn:I would love to see how Charlie shows Claire how much she loves her during Mother's Day! I love seeing some Charlie/Claire moments!

He was terribly prepared. No. Owen wanted a correction on that. He was _well_ prepared. The girls had made their cards and purchased a small gift each with his help. They were hand wrapped, ribboned, glittered and drooled over before he took it upon his charge to hide them away from their overeager hands and his impatient wife. 

Claire used to hate getting gifts but in recent years had learned to feel excited towards what her daughters had painstakingly picked out for her. Owen meant it, _painstakingly_ , it took them three hours to do an easy, one-hour shop, Elliot toddling behind his and Charlie’s long determined strides as the one-year-old insisted on fighting with the small wheeled basket. He had tried to take it from her, only for the girl to scream, small fingers smacking at his hand. 

Owen had everything under control, but the food. His dad had promised to work on lunch if Owen could pull the girls together to bake a cake or two and decorate it in the way their mother and grandmother loved. He should have taken the girls to his dad and watched Henry Grady conduct them in a clean and quiet manner. 

Elliot had already woken Claire once that morning. He had given his youngest her morning bottle and directed her to the couch, where Charlie was rubbing the sleep from her eyes in tune with Peppa Pig. He brought Charlie’s toast to her, only to realise Elliot was gone. The girl, though small and still unsteady on her legs had climbed the stairs and curled into her parents’ bed. She smirked at him from Claire’s breast, tucked against her mother securely, her bottle discarded on his side of the bed, still full like she had won some unspoken victory. His wife was awake, gently trying to tame Elliot’s wild bedhead as she snuggled with the girl under the blankets of their warm bed. 

‘It’s Mama’s day off.’ Owen warned Elliot, pointing his finger at the golden haired girl who only shook her head briskly only to defy him. He knew they were a day away from that girl opening her mouth and handing out as much sass to him that Charlie dished out to her mother.

Claire smiled softly, the same dreamy smile she gave him when their bed was full of bouncing toddlers, or when the house was dead quiet. The very same thankful, dreamy smile she gave him each time their daughters were born. ‘She can stay.’ She whispered quietly, shooing her husband out of the room and back to whatever last minute task he was evidently trying to put together. 

The littlest Grady was returned to him an hour later, the girl dressed, her hair brushed, favourite pair of shoes sticking to the floor, flashing lights with each of her heavy steps. Claire called out that she was going for a run, purposefully not peeking into the room to foil his plans. Owen couldn’t help feeling a little jaded that she was going without him, without _them_. He and Claire had always run together before the girls came into things and after that, they continued to move early mornings or late summer evenings as a family. Admittedly, they had both had days where they ditched the girls and strollers and just sprinted as fast as they could until they could barely walk the rest of the way home. 

He scooped Elliot up, hoisting the toddler onto his hip, thankful that the girl had failed to notice her mother’s departure. He handed her a dried strawberry from the bowl he was using to keep Charlie’s fingers out of their cooking before he turned back to the recipe at hand. 

‘I don’t know, Charlie, it’s just not looking right.’ Something had gone wrong in their process, and Owen wasn’t a masterful enough chief to notice what it was. He was confident that they had to start again, but the eldest girl wasn’t letting him scrap their unbaked concoction without a fight. 

‘I’ll ask Mama!’ She jumped from her stool at the counter, ready to run out the door covered in flour. 

‘No!’ He shouted after the girl, stopping her in her tracks as he called Charlie back to the kitchen. ‘No, Charlie, it’s _her_ cake. We can’t get her help.’ That and Claire was rubbish at cooking; she would be useless to them anyway. Sweet, he thought, that Charlie had considered her expertise. 

The girl shrugged, ‘She won’t know.'

Owen frowned, ‘How stupid do you think she is?’ He laughed, putting the question on the five-year-old. Charlie shrugged, hand raising with two fingers barely an inch apart. ‘Charlie.’ He warned with a stern voice, watching the girl blink up at him with faux innocence. 

‘I’ll get Nana, then!’ She jumped at another idea, eyes seeking out his phone in the mess they had made. 

He couldn’t help but shake his head, dropping his chin slightly as he sighed. ‘No, we have to do hers too. I’m just going to pour it out and start again, bug.’ She frowned at him, crossing her arms over her chest with a disgruntled sound. ‘I think we just miscalculated the wet ingredients; it’ll be fine.’ He knew they did, that’s what happened when you tried to bake with an overzealous five-year-old, ready to dip her finger in anything that promised to be cake later. Charlie had a habit of getting ahead of herself and skipping his patient instructions. He was sure she miss measured when he wasn’t looking. 

Kissing the side of Elliot’s head, Owen deposited the girl on the kitchen island, one hand on her hip, the other held flat as a warning. ‘Stay.’ He told her, the girl shaking her head. ‘Seriously, Elie, you stay put, or you get strapped into the high chair.’ She understood the trade, hands reaching for the bowl of dried strawberries as she stuffed her mouth. He didn’t trust her enough to not teeter over the edge, not because the girl didn’t listen to him, but because small children were magnets to accidents. He didn’t turn his back on her unsupervised. 

The cake was in the oven just before Claire got back, her cheeks pink from the exertion as she strolled into the kitchen and kissed her husband pleasantly. ‘You’ve made a mess.’ She couldn’t avoid the flour and sugar, spilled milk and egg whites. It was everywhere, on the counter, the floor and the clothes of her children. ‘You know the housekeeper isn’t coming until tomorrow right?’ They hired someone to clean four days a week, leaving Claire and Owen free of menial tasks they neither had the time nor want to do. Owen shrugged, surveying the mess. He could clean it. It wasn’t like he forgot how besides a little mess was nothing in comparison to making her day. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’ She announced, Elliot on the counter scrambling to reach her mother, small hands clenching in her nonverbal attempt at suggesting she go with Claire. 

‘It’s Mama’s day off, Elie.’ Owen moved to intervene before Claire stopped him, taking the girl who left floured handprints on her breast. Claire pressed up on her toes to kiss him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as she pulled away. 

He wanted her to have a day free of responsibilities, no work, no chores, no clingy children. ‘You’re doing a great job, but she’s no bother.’ Owen still argued that Claire should be able to shower without having a one-year-old at her feet. Then again, Claire and Elliot were lost without the other.

Owen found them later, showed and redressed for lunch at his parents’, curled in a chair, Claire reading as Elliot tapped at the pages. ‘I need her back.’ He smiled, promising it was top secret Mother’s Day plans, and both girls needed to be involved. It was their second Mother’s Day as a family of four, the year before spent dramatically still in the hospital, Claire unable to celebrate with both of her daughters _outside_ the hospital walls. He wanted it to be special, from _both_ girls as Elliot was capable of helping to ice a cake. He knew it would end in ruins if he put the infant down beside her sister and let them at it but it would still be special to Claire. 

She handed the child over reluctantly, Elliot starting to grizzle in defense. ‘It’ll be quick, I promise.’ He told the woman and the girl, trying to ease Elliot’s upset as he rushed her to the kitchen. Charlie had helped him ice both cakes, basic vanilla icing ready to be decorated. He gave her a tube of coloured icing, letting the infant squeeze it onto the cakes before he returned her to her mother’s arms.

Charlie put her heart and soul into decorating both cakes, covering them in edible glitter, flowers, hearts, and bags of piped icing in all colours. Neither cake was identical, Owen sitting back, confident that he could tell the two apart without having to add his flourish to distinguish which was for who. Finished, Charlie dropped her utensils and left her hard work, seeking out Claire and Elliot in their quiet corner of the house. 

She found them outdoors, curled on the porch swing, Claire reading from Guess How Much I Love You in her peculiar reading voice. Charlie didn’t make a peep, only curled in with them, squishing herself under her mother’s arm to get a peek at the pages while Elliot shoved at her shoulder, her silent way of telling her sister she was in her space. 

Owen watched them swing, Claire’s leg dangling off the side to push at the wood below them. He stepped in, lifting her legs into his lap as he took up the other half of the swing and started to move them softly, his thumbs digging into the arches of her feet, massaging away the days she spent torturing herself in heels. 

‘I love you, little nut-brown hare.’ Claire kissed Elliot’s cheek, ‘And you, medium nut-brown hare.’ A kiss for Charlie. ‘And even you, very big nut-brown hare.’ He could wait for his kiss until later, happy just marveling at his wife covered in daughter’s, one near sleep on her chest while the other let her affectionate side loose. 

‘Can you open a present now?’ Charlie asked, impatient, her fingers prodding at Claire’s chin. ‘I worked hard.’ She knew she was in for something handmade, Charlie not afraid to get her hands dirty and after the necklace, Owen managed to pull together for Mother’s Day the year before, Claire knew he was bound to tone it down to not outdo himself. She didn’t want anything, putting down a strict no gifts rule, beyond flowers. She wanted to celebrate the day for mothers as a mom of two when previously her smallest had been in the hospital, tampering with their ability to be together properly. 

Claire gave Charlie a small nod before Owen handed the gift over, already prepared, knowing full well Charlie had been impatient about it since the moment it came home from school. ‘I made it!’ She announced, beaming at her father proudly, her head tucked under Claire’s chin. 

‘My mom.’ Claire read the sheet of laminated paper in her hands, a picture of herself and Charlie glued to the bottom of Tahoma and her daughter’s messy handwriting. It wasn’t something Claire had received before but recognised as a gift Charlie had done on Father’s Day the year before. A list of ten questions was printed on a green sheet of paper; Charlie filled in the answers about Claire. ‘Can you read it for me Charlie?’ She asked, kissing her daughter’s red curls. 

She reached her finger for the page, using her six-year-old hand to track each word. A few of the questions were basic, her name, her favorite colour - which Charlie proudly pointed out was the same colour as the page. ‘Her favourite food is chocolate ice-cream - in secret ‘cause I like it too.’ She could hear the grin in Charlie’s voice, her hand drifting from the page to flick at her bottom lip. ‘I wanted to say lemons too, ‘cause you turned Elie’s hair ‘ellow, but I didn’t have no more room.’ Claire reassured the girl quietly that her answer was enough as she encouraged her to continue. ‘Her job is being impor’ant and the boss!’ Charlie cheered, her mother giggling, Owen’s head arched back, laugh on his lips. ‘My mom is the best at keeping me safe for my own good.’ Words she had regurgitated from the numerous tellings off she had received. ‘My mom always says; ‘Charlie, don’t do that.'’ Another echo of her mother’s words. ‘She laughs when Daddy kisses her nose. My mom and I liked to read, and read, and read, and read. My mom really loves _my_ baby, Elliot.’ Owen chuckled again at the possessive, Claire raising her free hand to stroke the side of Charlie’s face. ‘I love my mom because …’ She faltered, the words were there, but Charlie stopped. ‘I love my mom because she is strong and in-charge and because she looks after me good and my Elie and Daddy and she’s warm and smells good and is the nicest even though she frowns sometimes.’ They weren’t the words on the page, Charlie announcing it on her own as she rested against Claire. ‘Do you love me, Mama?’ 

Owen took the art project without Claire even needing to twitch, she wrapped her arm around Charlie tightly, squeezing the girl as Elliot still subtly tried to push her away. Her laugh broke in her throat, tears in her eyes as she kissed the top of her head over and over. ‘Are you silly? Of course, I love you, baby.’ She locked eyes with Owen, curious if something had happened to make the girl think otherwise. They had been in a good place for years, Claire was sure nothing had slipped. ‘I love you to the moon and back. But, right now, I think Nana’s waiting for us to go have lunch.’ 

Charlie leapt from her mother’s lap, feet hitting the ground running as she barely managed to ask if she could show off her cake baking skills yet. Owen followed after her, knowing full well the girl would end up pulling the cake on top of herself, destroying it and her outfit all in one go. Claire met them at the door, eyeing off their coats as she silently mulled over the idea of walking to Owen’s parents’ rather than taking the car. Elliot was already heavy in her arms, the little girl begging for her late afternoon nap. 

‘Only makes getting them home easier.’ Owen offered as he opened the rear door of the car before turning and taking Elliot from her gently. If they walked the fifteen minutes to his parents’ it only meant they had to wait for his dad to double check the car seats in his vehicle before taking them home, or that they would end up staying the night in the spare room too lazy to venture back to the house once the night had slipped out from underneath them. 

She felt useless with Owen doing everything. He was trying to take the load off her shoulders, and yet, with each time he took Elliot, she only felt empty and directionless. Although Claire could function without the infant and did so every day since returning to work, there was still something off about not having the girl there when she could. 

‘C’mon,’ he nudged her hip, watching Charlie round the car and get in on her own. ‘Let’s go talk my parents into watching them for the night so I can bring you home, run you a bubble bath and treat you real nice.’ He winked, charm oozing from his pores as he bent slightly to kiss the curve of her jaw rather than her cheek. Claire was hot and cold all over, a smile creeping across her face as chills set goosebumps on her arms. She wanted the day with her daughters, but now she was sure she wanted the evening with just her husband.  



	167. #167 - Don't Push Me Away, Talk It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Something about how Claire deals with Owen's PTSD from the Navy would be really interesting. Like he has terrible panic attacks and nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I settled on writing this prompt this week and I had my mind on something else. It's a little iffy but, Claire's not perfect. She wouldn't know PTSD if it was sitting in front of her and wouldn't know how to deal with it if she did. Owen, too, I feel would want to shield her from that + he hates looking weak to anyone including Claire.

Owen’s moods were easy to pick. He didn’t hide them well enough behind the huffs and grunts and stomping of his heavy feet. Even when he tried to suppress his anger, she could read it in the pulsing veins of his forehead, each line telling her he was mad as hell whether he wanted to talk about it or not. It scared her a little, his bubbling temper often rising to the surface with no warning. She was learning what would tip him off, but there were days where nothing hinted at his sour mood.

He wasn’t sleeping. Neither was she. But at least Claire could close her eyes and pretend to get some sleep. Owen took his sleepless nights out on a weight set he’d been pissed off about having to purchase again; the one he owned locked within the shores of Isla Nublar. He lifted weights, Claire lay in a cold bed waiting for his return. They felt distant despite sharing close quarters, Claire unsure of how to reach him when his anger bubbled to the surface. He had goo days - great days - where they lounged around or dawdled over chores. He kissed her like she was made of the purest materials the earth could make and touched her with burning hands. She didn’t expect everything to be fine one-hundred percent of the time. She knew they were going to have their ups and downs as the aftermath of Jurassic World rattled through their lives. She didn’t think his moods would fluctuate from caring to red-eyed mad. He was jittery on occasion, unable to sit still, often walking out the door at odd times and not returning for hours. She didn’t know what he did on days like that but guessed at the smell of liquor or the sweat on his shirt.

She walked through the door to find music playing through their modest sound system, Owen’s taste, old rock not too loud but loud enough. Claire didn’t bother in taking off her shoes, knowing well enough that Owen wouldn’t hear her come in if she did.

He was in the living room doing sit ups, the only work-out worthy space in the small apartment they were residing it. Claire stood in the doorway, watching him silently, waiting for him to notice that she was there. She could see the tension on his face, bubbling to veins that were threatening to protrude from his skin. It wasn’t from the workout. He could do this without breaking a sweat.

‘What do you want, Claire?’ He huffed at her, barely looking up from the space on the ceiling he was focusing on. Until he spoke, Claire thought he hadn’t noticed her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, irritation building within her. ‘Don’t take that tone with me.’

‘I’m not the one who just walked in lookin’ for a fight.’ He focused on her now, stopping what he was doing, full body at her attention as his eyes trailed her stance. She was ready for a fight, sick and tired of the way he was acting. Claire felt like she was on an emotional rollercoaster already, and that was without Owen’s mood swings.

‘I’m not -‘ She sighed, dropping her arms with a grumble. ‘I’m not looking for a fight, Owen.’ He raised a brow, openly showing her that he wasn’t convinced. ‘I don’t want to fight with you, but I do want to talk, and I know you won’t be open to that.’ His walls went up immediately, Owen jumping up from his place on the ground to stand at his full height. He was trying to intimidate her, stepping forward to lean what little extra height he had, above her head.

‘Yeah, well you’re right ‘bout that.’ He tried to push past her, Claire only blocking his way. ‘What on Earth do you wanna talk ‘bout anyway?’ He grumbled, noticing that she wasn’t going to let him pass until she had finished her piece.

‘What’s going on up here?’ She lifted her hand to tap a finger against his temple but barely managed to grace his skin when Owen’s hand snapped around her wrist. She jumped, fear catching down her spine as her eyes blew wide. ‘What?’ Claire snapped, stepping closer to him when she wanted to step away. ‘What do you want to do, Owen?’ She challenged, meeting his eye as she felt his grip tighten its hold before relaxing slightly. ‘Do it.’ She tried, leaning in further, inches from touching him. ‘Hit me.’

He moved like lightning, swift and blinding. Owen shoved her against the wall in a flash, his presence towering over her as his hand squeezed tight enough to break. She flinched, fear tweaking at her lip for a split second before Claire regained her composure. It was enough for Owen to back down, anger flashing to fear in his eyes as he clashed with Claire’s determination. He let her go, grip slipping from her wrist as it fell, slinging back to her side while he took two giant strides backwards. ‘Don’t.’ His response was weak, eyes drifting from hers as he looked at his feet.

‘Don’t what? Don’t push you?’ Claire stepped forward her fingers touching her shoulder as she shoved as hard as she could. He barely moved. ‘What am I supposed to do? You won’t talk to me!’ Her voice raised, frustration slipping through her words as her fingers rolled into fists. ‘I don’t know what the _fuck_ I am doing anymore, Owen!’ Desperation broke. ‘I thought we were going to do this together, but you just check out on me!’

‘I don’t - Claire, I …’

‘Oh, you do! I feel like I’m suffocating here, do you think I like being stuck in Costa Rica answering to those jerks? I come home, and you’re in a fucking _mood_ about something you don’t want to talk about. I get it, I do, but shit, Owen, I pushed my whole family away because I didn’t want to talk about how I was feeling. It was surprising that Gray even wanted to see me. I don’t want that to happen here, I don’t want you to push me away; I don’t want to not talk about things. Don’t push me away because you’re scared and lost - I want to help, I feel exactly the same, and the only thing I’m certain on is you, but you’re making me doubt that.’

She didn’t want to feel alone in something they both shared.

‘You don’t get it.’ His fingers twitched, trying once again to push past her. Claire wasn’t letting him move, for once thankful for their small living room with only one out.

‘I was _there_ , Owen! All day. By _your_ side!’ She shrieked at him a little, voice losing control as her hands rose and fell in frustration.

He shook his head, turning his back on her before he flopped on the couch. ‘It’s not the incident.’ Owen mumbled like a little boy, hand wiping across his mouth and muffling his words. ‘I have shit to deal with Claire, you just don’t see it because you never did on the island and now you’re forced to because I have nowhere else to go.’ Guilt tapped on her shoulder, pulling the anger from her lips and the corners of her eyes. ‘I just - God, Claire, I don’t want to expose you to this _shit_. Can’t we just _fucking_ leave it at that?’

She shook her head. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’ Her voice was soft, Claire toeing her shoes off to approach him, body soothed by the soft touch of the carpet.

Elbows on his knees, Owen dropped his head into his hands as an angry grunt pushed from his chest. ‘I really don’t want to be reliving war stories with you.’

‘You don’t have to. I just want to know when there’s something on your mind. I don’t need details, but it 'd be good to know if you can’t sleep because of Jurassic World, or if you’re mad because of me.’ Owen lifted his head, shaking it as his hands reached for her, pulling Claire towards him as she knelt on the couch beside his hip.

‘I’m never mad because of you, Claire. Ever. I don’t want you to think that I would be. _Please_ , especially, please don’t think I would hit you or lash out at you or do anything to make you scared.’

Claire nodded easily, her hand finding his hair as Owen let his head fall against her chest. ‘Just promise me that next time you go drinking in the middle of the night, I can come too.’ He nodded, chuckle stuttering from him with a heavy sigh. He’d be happy for the company, knowing that he didn’t have to be alone as he drowned his misery making it worse as guilt built in his belly knowing she was back in the apartment fitfully trying to sleep around terrible memories.

‘We’ll get a shrink when we’re allowed to relocate—’ He felt her body move, his cheek shifting against her chest as Claire bent to press a kiss to the top of his head. ‘—Because, damn, we’re a mess.’ He couldn’t help the laugh despite his full throat, tension abated by Claire’s smooth touch, her fingers stroking his scalp in long lines as she allowed him to hold her, his barriers still up. Owen didn’t want to taint her with the scars of his military past; they had enough on their plate with Jurassic World falling to shambles, and where that travesty kick started the ugly demon that was his memories once again, Owen wasn’t willing to share each morbid detail in order to bottle them back up.  


	168. #168 - Of Scares, Lessons and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Please write Owen singing to Baby Grady  
> \- from this post (because it’s hella long): http://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/141708239094/otp-prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a 4k fic people. I cannot. What the hell. Still struggling with Uni shiz - got my board proposal on Thursday (eeek) but should be free after that for a WHOLE MONTH to submit to your mercy. Think up some prompts, some HCs, idk come chat to me anything clawen I wanna be lapping it up and sharing it around (also hopefully getting to 200 prompts before the beginning of August!!) 
> 
> ~THIS IS PART OF THE CHARLIE AND ELLIOT UNIVERSE~

The garage was Owen’s space. His dignified man cave fit with everything he needed to last him a whole weekend of boredom. It had been his intention, music on the stereo, tools in his hands. Claire had no plans for them, only quietly mentioned something about taking a lazy weekend for themselves. He wasn’t going to complain, this his motorcycle back in his presence Owen was willing to spend as much time as he could tinkering with it. If he was being honest with himself, Owen didn’t know how to act around Claire half the time. They were cracking at the edges and breaking under undue pressure. She was pregnant and apprehensive on the subject, Owen unsure of where he could tread. She only told him seven weeks ago and yet their floorboards felt like egg shells. He stayed away from the topic unless she invited him to comment. They had good days and bad, ones where she curled up and wanted to talk nursery furniture and others where she pushed herself too hard he _had_ to remind her she was growing another life.

When Claire offered that they did their own thing for the weekend, organising a causal run for the both of them when he felt up for it, Owen was pleased. He didn’t want to force anything between them but it was hard to tell her moods and frankly, he was happy if she was willing to come to him when ready to discuss it further.

He buried himself in the garage, set with tinkering and mechanical improvements to last him days let alone the weekend, the stereo was on, his bar fridge filled, a time set in his mind where he could take a break and slowly jog the neighbourhood with Claire. She was content with whatever it was she was doing, likely reading, or huffing at the veggie garden she was desperately trying to nurture. He would check in, stretch his legs in a few hours, they would run, decide on dinner, go back to their individual tasks and possibly settle with a movie before climbing into bed.

The weekend had other plans, not letting it hit ten o’clock before Claire was in the doorway separating the garage from the front entry of their home.  

There was something written across her face that worried him immediately, first glance and he felt his stomach drop. She didn’t speak, just looked at him with wide wet eyes, both arms wrapped around her middle with a hand flat on the small curve of her stomach. Owen held his breath, eyes scanning her for physical signs of harm. He rose, dropping the wrench in his hand to stand, hands wiping with a rag. ‘Claire?’ He asked softly, approaching her with slow steps. She was a flighty animal, Owen sure she would break off into a run if he rushed her.

‘I think I need to go to the hospital.’ She shifted her weight as her bottom lip wobbled. His heart leapt into his throat at her quiet announcement. ’I fell.’ Her voice cracked, face crumbling as her arms tightened their hold. Owen didn’t hesitate in filling the space between them, pulling her under his arm as he tucked her against his chest, one of his large hands engulfing hers on her abdomen.

‘Are you hurt?’ She was shaking like a leaf, whole body trembling as she buried her face against his shoulder. Her hand slipped free to touch at her hip, complaining of a potential bruise.

‘I don’t feel too good.’ Claire was white as a sheet, eyes pressed closed, teeth in her bottom lip. He didn’t know if it was just because of the way she was shaking or the fright she had given herself, but Owen wasn’t willing to take any chances with her health.

‘Is the baby okay?’ He felt her body shudder, Claire’s cheek moving against his shoulder. Her sob broke him, the cry splitting from her throat.

‘I don’t know.’ She turned into him, arm sliding around his back her fingers grasping his shirt. ‘Owen, I’m scared.’ He felt her brow tighten, the woman refusing to look up at him as Owen tried to usher her out of the doorway and towards the living room. ‘What if I’ve done serious damage?’ She lifted her face, scared blue eyes bleeding into his, begging him for some kind of reassurance.

Owen kissed her forehead, his hand never leaving the grove of her stomach. She slipped, missing the bottom step on the stairs to fall straight onto her ass. She was sure her hip was going to bruise from hitting the wall. He didn’t know anything about pregnancy to rightly reassure her. ‘You’re not bleeding or cramping though, right?’ He asked, throat thick as he felt his heart try to hammer its way right through his chest. She shook her head. It was possibly too early to tell.

‘I really want to go to the hospital.’ She insisted, voice smaller than her usual commanding tone. Owen could count on one one hand the number of times he had seen her like this; each time related to her pregnancy. Even after Jurassic World fell apart Claire held it together, her voice never wavering and her face calm.

Owen nodded, kissing her cheek twice before he managed to reign in control of his actions. ‘Yeah, yeah. Good idea. Let’s go.’ He helped her to the car like she was porcelain, one hand on the small of her back holding her cardigan while the other remained glued to her stomach. It was like he thought the presence of his hand alone could will their unborn child into staying put. He kissed her cheek again once he buckled her into the car, Claire letting Owen take control despite being completely capable of putting her seatbelt on herself. He needed it, she left, more than she did; to be the nurturer in something she said she didn’t want to keep. His hand lingered on her stomach, eyes meeting it as he tore himself away. Once in the driver's side, Owen collected Claire’s hand in his, squeezing her small fingers within his larger ones.

She tried to focus herself, collect her breathing and thus settle her erratic heartbeat. Claire wouldn’t be doing herself any good if she was panicking on top of the stress she threw her body in. She could still feel where her pelvis collided with the bottom step and the white cold chill that speckled across her skin. She had felt sick to her stomach immediately, pain setting off every nerve ending in her lower half while the alarms started to ring in her head. She remained still for a minute before pulling herself up on shaking legs, barely shuffling across the house to find Owen; hoping that he was still in the garage and hadn’t gone for an unannounced hardware trip. There was an instant relief when she spotted him, quickly followed by a new wave a grief when the worry started to slide across his face.

‘I don’t want anything to happen to this baby, Owen.’ She told him, her eyes on the road, cautiously watching him through her peripheral vision. Owen turned his head, taking his attention from the empty road to stare at her for a split second before returning to keeping them safe. ‘I know I said, I didn’t want it but I do — I _really_ do — I’m just scared.’ She was holding her breath, not looking at him as she squeezed his hand as tightly as she could. ‘I don’t want you to think that I wished this would happen.’ They had already talked about it. He didn’t quite grasp her reasoning, but Claire promised she wouldn't abort the baby she was carrying despite the shake in her hands and the look of absolute terror in her eyes. She committed to him, to a child, to a life together no matter what happened down the line.

He sighed, the sound mournful. ‘Oh, Claire —‘, his hand squeezed hers, ‘— I could never think that’. He could see she was far more frightened than he was. Owen was trying to be the rational one, putting logic in their place and sheer hope that things would be okay. Something in the back of his head said there was a reason to be alarmed when a pregnant woman fell, but he couldn’t remember hearing the last time something serious happened because of it. ‘He’s going to be fine, Claire, it’s okay.’

‘ _He?_ ’ She echoed back, tears blurring her eyes as a smile nipped at the corners of her mouth.

His thumb rubbed circles across her palm, eyes tearing away from the road to look at her again. ‘Yeah; he. It would be nice to have a boy, don’t you think. Softer colours, easier going, I can take him fishing to give you the night off. That’d be the life, aye, Claire?’ He kept saying her name over and over, every time he spoke it left his mouth with a tight squeeze of her hand.

She nodded, grin on her face despite the tears and wobbling cry that wouldn’t stop. The hand he wasn’t holding, cupped her belly, rubbing soothing circles around her small bump. ‘You’d be good with a boy.’ Claire had already seen Owen with her nephews enough to know that he knew how to relate; although awkwardly, after a significant trauma.

Without discussion, Owen decided to take Claire to her OB/GYN’s clinic rather than dealing with the busy emergency room at the hospital. He was sure she was fine, despite the panic he couldn’t swallow and didn’t want to sit in the E.R. if he didn’t have to.

The staff weren’t taking chances, giving Claire soft smiles as they sent her straight through, promising Dr Carson would be with her any minute. ‘I heard you took a fall.’ She appeared as promised, Claire sitting on the bed, hands in her lap, worry still burrowing itself in every crease on her face. Carson smiled, her hand squeezing Claire’s arm. ‘Now, I’m going to tell you not to worry and I need you to believe me, Claire. Your baby is very well padded in there. It would take something very serious happening externally to get to them at this stage.’ She looked to Owen, adding that he would have taken Claire straight to the hospital instead of her clinic if that were the case, Claire injured too. ‘You didn’t fall on your stomach, did you?’ Claire shook her head. ‘I’m confident in saying you’re okay, the baby is okay and that nothing will happen other than a bruise. Would you like me to do an ultrasound just in case?’ Claire nodded before Carson could even finish asking.

‘I’m not leaving until I _see_ that the baby is okay.’ Claire insisted, reaching for Owen’s hand and continuing her death grip.

Carson smiled, promising Claire that she wouldn’t have sent her home without doing a proper check up. She would not have it held over her head if her assumptions were wrong. As a medical professional and Claire’s friend, she owed it to her to make sure her baby was safe.

‘Alright, Baby Grady, let’s show your momma you’re fine.’ Carson went about her business prepping the doppler and setting up the screen for Owen and Claire to see. She tried to warm the jelly between her hands before she squeezed some on Claire’s bare belly, the woman holding her shirt under her breasts as she started at the blank screen intensely. ‘Claire?’ Carson started, waiting for her patient to tear her eyes away. ‘I need you to relax, okay?’ She forced her to take three deep breaths before she began, watching Claire’s shoulders relax before she brought the doppler to her stomach. It took a minute before she found it, a distinctive curve of a head and slope of a spine before the image settled, Carson finding the right spot to give Owen and Claire a full view of their baby. ‘There’s the little bean, safe and sound!’

Claire broke, sob bubbling past her lips as she rolled her head to Owen’s shoulder, the man half perched on the bed. The screen showed them a full body profile of their baby, at sixteen weeks Baby Grady had full arms and legs, the smallest details in fingers with a thumb stuck in their mouth.

‘He looks so relaxed.’ Owen sighed with relief, feeling the emotion claw up his throat as Claire squeezed his hand desperately. Their child, who was completely fine, was reclined with legs crossed, foot tapping, more than comfortable in his living quarters for the foreseeable six months. Owen pressed a fat kiss to Claire’s cheek, letting his touch linger for comfort as she cried tears of joy instead of fear. Her free hand covered her mouth as Carson leant over to squeeze her arm.

‘This feeling, Claire. It’s overwhelming, but it’s a good thing. You care. You were more than concerned about the wellbeing of your child despite being unsure about your pregnancy. I think this can settle your worries. That instinct to protect is there.’ She gave her a broad smile, knowing the last time the two had been in her office was less than pleasant for all involved. Carson tapped at the keyboard, one hand holding steady to the doppler as a thumping filled the room, fast like a marching band but a little less organised. ‘Mostly, this is Claire’s heart because she’s worked up but if you can take a few deep breaths and let it even out I’ll be able to show you the difference between yours and the baby’s.’

[…]

The ordeal exhausted her. Exhausted them both. Owen and Claire shuffling through the front door to embrace the serenity of their home and the comfort that the baby was okay. He didn’t want to leave her side but knew if he hovered that Claire would snap and tell him to go away. She slipped off her shoes with a heavy sigh, shoulders shifting as a hand graced her bump protectively and as a small reminder that the life beneath it was still there. He watched her soften, the tension in her back slipping away as Claire wordlessly moved for the stairs and the master bedroom.

‘Want me to make lunch?’ He offered, hoping she would ask him to follow her. Claire stopped, looking at him over her shoulder with a thankful smile and soft words that if he brought her a sandwich he was a life saver. Owen was sure, after everything, there was nothing he _wouldn’t_ do for Claire. He let her climb the stairs, knowing that she would be fine without his eyes on her at all times.

It took him twenty-two minutes and sixteen seconds to make them each a roast chicken sandwich, made up of the leftovers from the night before’s dinner, and pour a glass of orange juice. Cut into two triangles and stacked on top of each other on one plate, a bottle of water under his arm so his hand was free to hold her juice, Owen eliminated the second trip he was destined to make in order to take his food to the second floor.

There was something about the silence in their home recently that made him giddy. The oncoming sound of little feet still months away but all too tempting to daydream about. Owen was sure he was ready for it, waiting to hear cries and gurgles and small baby giggles. He was ready to bring Claire sandwiches and fruit salad, whatever lunch she desired while she fed their baby in the comfort of their bed or the rocking chair he was desperate to buy. It was hard to not get overwhelmed, expecting the future that was nearly ripped from him that morning. For now, it was silence, the soft sound of his feet sticking to the floorboards as he moved from the landing to the open bedroom door. He rapped his fingers against the wood to alert her of his presence before he looked up to find the red head with her eyes closed.

‘Claire,’ He called to her softly, the same singsong voice to raise someone from slumber. She didn’t respond, breathing softly like she was deep in sleep, not ready to wake. ‘Claire?’ He called again, voice a little louder as he deposited their plates and drinks on her bedside table. She had curled into his spot, tucked on the left side of the bed, his pillow curled under her head, throw blanket across her knees. ‘Babe, I brought lunch.’ He tried for a third time, knees on the bed as his hand tentatively touched her arm. She was out, near snoring her sleep was so deep. Owen didn’t blame her, Claire had rattled herself so much she was bound to crash and burn without warning.

Owen lowered himself to the mattress, mirroring her position as he lay on his side. Claire liked to lie to herself, but she was showing more than the woman was ready to admit. At sixteen weeks, her bump was pronounced enough to tell she was pregnant. He knew her bosses didn’t know, nor did his mother. He and Karen were the only ones privy to the information while she wouldn’t have been able to hide it from him for much longer, Karen lived in another state, unable to look at her sister’s body shape and pick the smooth curve that added to her silhouette. He didn’t know what she was thinking in trying to hide it in the middle of summer when all her form fitting clothes outlined the perfect shape their baby had added to her body. It was perfect, the easy curve from her hips to her breasts, widest at the bottom before sloping out. He could cup it in his hands, perfectly. Owen couldn’t help reaching out to touch her, his fingers gracing her bump easily, mindful of her protective hand resting bellow the weight. He knew if he wanted to wake her, all he needed to do was move her hand, or make his touch heavy enough her sleeping mind detected it. Claire was worried, up some nights, petrified that she _couldn’t_ be a mother. She admitted to feeling no maternal instinct but he saw it written all over her. In fact, her own worry that she had no instinct was sign enough that Claire didn’t want to screw this up. Her doctor had said it herself that morning, the panic Claire put herself in fear that she had harmed the baby was enough proof that she _cared._

He watched his fingers spread across the fabric of her shirt, stretching over the swell of her skin; the marvel that was shifting every day to accommodate the growth of his child. Owen couldn’t thank her enough for doing this. The stretch marks had already started to appear, Claire weakly asking him to rub her skin in oils in an attempt to return it all to normal. He didn’t know much but was starting to doubt it was going to go back to the way it was. Not that _he_ was complaining, but Claire was bound to be unimpressed.

‘Hey little bug —‘ He spoke unsure of where the will to speak came from but going for it anyway. His eyes jumped to Claire’s face, careful that he hadn’t woken her as his hand on her stomach stopped, waiting for the smallest of movement he knew he wouldn’t feel yet. ‘—You don’t know this yet, but I _love_ you more than anything in the world, well, maybe besides your mom.’ Had even told her he loved her? Owen and Claire had been together a year and he was uncertain those words had ever crossed his lips. The fact that he was questioning it was enough to know it was possible he hadn’t ever said it. Love was a _tricky_ thing so far as Owen was concerned, but Claire earned it, so did this baby, his heart still doing summersaults at the thought. ‘I promise, I’m going to tell her that.’ He tapped her belly like he would tap the nose of their child whenever he made a playful promise. ‘I thought we were going to lose you for a second there today.’ He hadn’t said it aloud, same scared feeling returning to swallow him whole for a second before Owen managed to recenter himself. The baby was perfectly fine, they saw _him_ , heard his heartbeat, he moved, sucking his thumb and tapping his foot. ‘I love you both _so_ much.’ Owen hummed, emotion caught in his throat as he watched his hand stroke the side of Claire’s bump, hopeful that his touch had some effect on the child within.

Bob Dylan swirled in his mind, lyrics from an old song he could recall being played from some point in his youth. The lyrics were muddled in his head, the guitar tune itching to be plucked from his fingers, Owen internally promising himself to sit down with the sheet music and play it out in an afternoon. He didn’t need it to be perfect, sound hummed against his lips with an intense need to share it with the being inside Claire’s womb. The words were rolling off his tongue without thought, recalled from years of hearing it, loving it, wishing to live by the lyrics and impart them to someone else.

_‘May you grow up to be righteous_

_May you grow up to be true_

_May you always know the truth_

_And see the lights surrounding you_

_May you always be courageous_

_Stand upright and be strong_

_And may you stay_

_Forever you’_

‘I forgot you could sing.’ Claire’s voice drifted over his head, loud and clear, somewhat humoured and rasped with disuse. Owen jumped, embarrassment flushing red hot across his cheeks as he let out an involuntary sound.

Her hand on her stomach reached for his, locking their fingers together as she squeezed. ’Shit, Claire!’ He half yelped at her, pulling his head towards her bump as his other hand joined, Owen pressing his lips to the evidence of their child. He kissed her stomach twice before moving up the bed, his laughter meeting her cheeks as he kissed her, his hands squeezing hers. ‘I hate you.’ He hummed, eyes squeezed close, trying to will the heat off his face.

Claire hummed, ‘No, I’m pretty sure you said you loved me’. He cracked his eyes open just for her smile, knowing the look would be glorious on her skin. Sixteen weeks pregnant and he could swear she had already gained a glow, her cheeks plumper, face seeming more ground as her stomach began to expand. Seven weeks ago he had no clue she was pregnant, now it was undeniable. Her smile was wide but shy, her blue eyes glimmering in the light as she bit her lip unsure of his reaction as she aired his secrets out loud.

‘You’re right’, Owen nodded, ‘I love you’. He kissed her softly, barely touching her lips. She whispered the words back, barely uttering them as her mouth moved around them, eyes unsure. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to say it, but something told him she was sincere just scared like she was with everything else that was happening in their lives. ‘Are you okay?’ He asked, eyes dropping to her bump. He wasn’t just concerned about that moment in particular, but the day in general, Owen worried that Claire mightn’t have moved on with reassurance. She nodded softly, promising everything was fine, she was just tired and her head ached a little. ‘Hey, why don’t I move the spare TV up here and we can call it a bed day?’ Owen offered, grin wide as he sat up, handing Claire the sandwich he made and insisting she eat it. ‘You can show me that nursery set you were looking at?’

If Owen was being perfectly honest, he was scared of what would happen if she got out of bed. It was the stairs that made Claire slip in the first place, he would relax into his Saturday afternoon with much more ease if he knew Claire wasn’t willing to get up and move around — at least until he managed to find a slip-proof mat to put down on the stairs.

Claire looked unsure, teeth nibbling on her lip as she eyed her glasses on the bedside table. ‘You can work.’ He promised her. ‘I’ll go get your laptop too.’ She nodded, giving in to his ploy and convenience as she sat up, a hand smoothing over her bump before she accepted the sandwich. Owen bowed his head to press another kiss to her bump. ‘I’m glad he’s okay, Claire.’

She smiled, hand doing another circle. ‘Me too.’


	169. #169 - Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: When they get back to Costa Rica, Owen and Claire spend the best part of the day looking for vacant hotel accomodation. They are both frazzled and so forget about sunscreen. Owen turns a little pink but Claire is left with the mother of sunburns and Owen feels so terrible for not remembering.

She wanted to drop her body onto a park bench and cry. There was a tense coil wound in her head and one sitting just below her throat. Claire was desperate to let the floodgates open, to curl her fists and thrash them against something hard while she unleashed a gut-wrenching cry. She just wanted to get it over and done with so she could move on with her day. It felt like it wasn’t going to end if she couldn’t express herself and at the same time, she was too scared to do so. Not in front of Owen, not on the streets of Costa Rica where the sun was melting her skin and the civilians looked wide-eyed and bewildered. She hadn’t slept for over 36 hours, too wired to let go, without a bed to do so. They had a room, Owen _and_ Claire, he gave up his to bunk with her certain that someone else needed the bed. She didn’t know how to react to that at first, certain that her adrenaline would drop and she would go back to needing him like Batman needed The Joker. He was there to antagonise her, not provide comfort and yet all Claire wanted was the feel of his large hand on he small of her back, guiding her tired body in whatever direction need be. 

She let him _fuck_ her, bodies slick with sweat and grime, hands frantic as he pushed her against the exterior wall of Control. The boys were inside, Lowery trying to entertain them as Owen and Claire gravitated towards fresh air and making their skin one. She almost hated herself for letting him do it like that, her clothes torn, most of what she had been wearing that morning gone altogether, strewn about the island’s jungles as she discarded them when necessary. Her hair had frizzed in the humidity bringing back her natural wave instead of the dead straight look she tamed every morning. She had covered herself in dinosaur shit not twelve hours ago, it didn’t stop Owen from sucking on her pulse point, sure to leave marks on her neck. She tried not to think of the jungle under her fingernails or how dirty they were as he shoved into her with a grunt, easily accepting her breathy moan. It was wrong on so many of her personal levels and yet, it was _so_ right. Claire was yet to cast him out of her life, still curiously dependant on his next move. 

It was guilt that pushed her forward. The lobby of their hotel was still bustling with people the next morning, all the rooms had been filled and yet there were still park guests in need of a place to sleep. Claire sacrificed the space she and Owen were occupying. The hotel promised to find them a replacement before dinner. Claire didn’t care. Owen was living on just as little sleep the both of them too wired to close their eyes. 

Owen joked that it must have been what Bethlehem looked like on Christmas Eve. People everywhere, weary and torn, filling every available bed as locals came out on social media with spare room, willing to take in victims. They were calling them victims, injured or not, the media doused a blanket term over the twenty-thousand people she had at her park the day before. Claire had caused them this grief. She made them victims.

With borrowed clothes and worn feet they ventured for the waterline and strolled from there. They had nowhere to be. Her nephews left on a flight with their parents that morning, relieving Claire of Karen’s constant questions and the boys’ terrified faces. 

Claire gave in. Stopping to let her body crumbled onto a bench. Owen left her, he had the jitters, fingers twitching, unable to sit still as he kissed her forehead before departing. He was back in minutes, cold drinks in his hand and a hat he’d bought from a street vendor. He pulled the accessory over her head, accepting her childlike smile and small thanks.

‘You have enough burns as it is.’ He told her, taking her hands gently as he inspected the torn skin there, still inflamed from the flare. Owen placed one of the bottles of water into her upturned hands, hoping it would cool her skin long enough to provide some relief. She watched him, Owen’s face close to hers as he continued to inspect her hands. She didn’t think she had seen him up this close before, only inches away, close enough that she could press a kiss to his cheek bone without having to move too far. They had been in close proximity, arguing toe to toe and their moment of coitus in the dark of the thriving jungle. She never took the time to notice the creases near his eyes or the slope of his bottom lip. Claire missed the care, altogether, consideration burning in blue as he made sure she was alright. Her heart skipped a beat — stopped — as she felt _it_ curl in the pits of her stomach. She liked — adored, respected, admired — Owen. He was pulling at her heart strings and rappelling himself into the centre of her being, settling himself there for good. She was never going to get rid of him, no matter how hard they argued. No one had been that tender with her. No one had _cared._

_‘_ Do you think they’ll actually find us another room?’ He asked, pulling his eyes from her hands to her face, Claire’s breath catching at their proximity. 

She shrugged, ‘I hope so. If not Masrani Global will _find_ us something.’ He looked at her with a strange quirk, question pursed at his lips. Was she sure they would protect her? The company could drop her easily after what had happened, throwing Claire to the sharks without a care. She didn’t know the answer, in fact, she was glad he didn’t ask. 

They did manage to get another room, just as good as the last — not that Claire was keeping tabs. She was too scared to close her eyes, too scared to let go of her control and succumb to whatever that island wanted to leave her with. Owen left her to her inner demons, cursing the sun as he spotted her skin turning red. She let him rub aloe vera into her skin, large hands encompassing her shoulders, pressing big thumbs into her vertebrae and making her sore spots _pop_. She didn’t know how he did it, but felt like Owen was entirely responsible when the tears began to fall, sob escaping from her chest as her fists hit down against the mattress. 


	170. #170 - Charlie and Pressure Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Claire and Charlie learning to co-exist with each other when Owen is gone
> 
> ANON: @otpprompts: Imagine your OTP’s young child shouting the words “I hate you” for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Another 5k fic. You know what this means ... *begs for love*

He had been gone a week. A whole seven days out of one-hundred-and-twelve. Used to running multi-million dollar company’s, Claire Dearing was sure her household would last longer than it did before falling apart. Worst yet, she didn’t see it coming. It was naivety that blinded her, sure that Charlie’s behaviour was a symptom of her father’s absence — it was, but it festered and Claire was hopeless to stop it. 

She had watched her daughter eat cereal in her pyjamas on a school morning, arm tucked around the bowl as she shovelled dripping spoonfuls into her mouth. It was still surprising to catch one of Owen’s traits in the girl. The man and his daughter sharing caveman qualities when it came to food. The similarity only jumping out at Claire in the man’s absence, her heart longing for him to be there. When she was finished, Charlie pushed her bowl to the middle of the kitchen island, crockery crunching as it slid across stone, the girl barely paying her mother any attention. ‘We need to be walking out that door in fifteen minutes, Charlie.’ Claire warned as she wiped porridge from Elliot’s cheek. Charlie didn’t even turn her head. 

This wasn’t their routine. When Owen was home, Charlie was accustomed to crawling into their bed, or seeing herself to her favourite TV programs until either parent was up. She had to have her uniform on _before_ breakfast where Owen would practice her sight words or the math homework in her notebook. Since they brought Elliot home, breakfast was for the four of them, sitting at the kitchen island sipping orange juice or coffee as the toaster popped out their breakfast or as Claire tried her hand a _cooking_. Charlie was pulling at the threads of their routine, slowly applying pressure to different parts, waiting for it all to break as one; falling like dominos. She didn’t get out of bed in the morning until Claire had done a lap of the house, pushing Charlie’s door open to find the girl with her eyes still closed. This morning was the first where Charlie’s pyjama’s were worn to breakfast. Claire was willing to let it slide. They were all upset and still trying to adjust to the gaping hole in their lives. She didn’t expect Charlie to be perfect and she certainly didn’t want to jump right into punishing the girl the second she stepped out of line. 

‘Five minutes!’ Claire called up the stairs, knowing her eldest was still up there. She busied herself with shrugging Elliot into a light jumper and adding small shoes to her six-month-old feet, knowing all to well the girl would only kick them off in the car. ‘Charlie?’ She called again, Elliot dressed and on her hip. 

‘I’m not going.’ The girl shouted, coming into sight on the landing, still in her pyjamas. Her spirit was strong, her words spitfire, hands on her hips as she stood tall. 

Claire shook her head, sigh falling from her lips. She really didn’t have time for this. ‘You _have_ to go to school, Charlie.’ The girl frowned, grunting as she stomped her foot. ‘You’re not getting out of it. I have things to do today.’

‘But Ellie gets to not go!’ Claire was still on maternity leave for the next five weeks. Elliot didn’t have a school or daycare to go to. She swore it was a little jealously detected in the lines between Charlie’s brows — her weak argument falling short but truthful none the less. ‘Call Grandma!’

‘Charlie —’ Claire sighed, feeling a headache start to tighten across her skull. She knew this was going to happen. Knew Charlie was going to resist at some point soon. Claire just _hoped_ it wouldn’t happen. ‘—No.’ She was going to school. End of the argument. Heather and Lorna were not going to save Charlie from her six hour day. ‘Get dressed. Now.’ Claire’s voice dropped, reaching for the authoritative tone that was saved for when Charlie was being particularly naughty — a rarity Claire barely used due to Owen’s soft nature on the child. Their eldest was _cheeky_ , she bent the rules, and she knew how to play the adults around her like a fine tuned Baby Grand. That didn’t mean she always got away with it and it certainly didn’t mean she was a _bad_ child. She stepped out of line, spoke up and out but Owen and Claire were always lenient on that.

Charlie crumbled, arms twitching as she rolled her fingers into fists. Claire saw her lip wobble. ‘No!’ She fought back. 

‘ _Charlotte_ _Grady_ if I have to come up there and dress you myself, I will!’ She warned, watching as the girl turned her back and disappeared. Her bedroom door slammed a second later, Charlie yelling from beyond the door that she wasn’t going and her mother couldn’t make her. She was five. Claire wanted to drop to the step and scream herself. If they — she — were in for this now there was no telling how outrageous Charlie was going to be in her teens. All signs pointed towards catastrophic.

Claire wanted to be sympathetic. Charlie was missing her dad and acting out because of it. But, she had a meeting she was already dragging one daughter to, taking a second would only make things chaotic. She needed to set her ground rules. Her mom-is-the-only-one-here-so-deal-with-it rules. Charlie needed to understand where she stood in the pecking order of their household without Owen home. Mom came off as weak sometimes but Claire wasn’t going to be pushed around, no matter how many other options Charlie presented to her. 

Elliot was warm on her hip, quiet as she sucked on her fist. ‘What are we going to do with her?’ She asked the infant, kissing her head before climbing the stairs. Claire stopped at the closed door, eyes shut as she took a deep breath. Charlie, for the most part was good, but there was days that Claire had to remind herself that child was her husband’s pride and joy. She _loved_ Charlie but the girl could push her buttons more than Claire believed possible for a five-year-old. 

Claire didn’t know what to do. Either way, this wasn’t ending well for Charlie. Her mother wasn’t going to give in and give her a day off school for the third time that week. Charlie was seemingly forgetting she had spent a four day weekend curled up with her mother watching movies and wallowing in her father’s absence. Now she wanted more. 

She backed away from the child’s door, descending to the first floor of her home before grabbing her car keys and heading outside. Claire was hesitant to buckle Elliot into her carseat, securing the child before shutting the door. Claire returned to the house with her hands free, ready to face Charlie with a watch that ticked faster than before and anxiety that trembled in anticipation of Charlie’s reaction and because Elliot was in the car unattended. 

Claire knocked once before gripping the handle, pushing the door open as Charlie shouted at her to get out. She was sitting on her bed, still dressed in blue flannel, her red hair a frizzy mess, half falling out of the braid she had it in. Claire held her stance in the doorway. ‘You either start getting dressed now or you’re going to school in your pyjamas.’ She warned, waiting a beat for Charlie to start moving. The five-year-old only re-crossed her arms over her chest with a dignified huff before she turned her back on Claire. 

Claire didn’t wait. She was already going to be late for her meeting and now was feeling completely derailed due to Charlie’s attitude. She grabbed her, knowing the fight would be fierce as Claire mustered all her strength to lift Charlie from her bed and hold her despite the girl’s wiggling. She started fighting immediately, limbs refusing to stay still as she kicked and screamed. 

‘Let me go!’ Charlie fought, hands pushing at Claire’s shoulders as her mother’s grip tightened. ‘Stop it! I don’t want to go!’ Claire remained tightlipped, holding her breath as she tried to manage the stairs without falling while Charlie continued to kick at her, trying desperately to wiggle free. 

She considered it a miracle that she got the girl to the car and the door open without dropping Charlie or falling. Charlie continued to struggle, but mostly climbed into the car on her own accord. She shoved at her mother’s shoulder roughly when Claire lent in to secure her seatbelt. ‘I swear to God, Charlie, you keep this up and you _won’t_ be talking to Daddy tonight.’ She warned, glaring at the girl as Charlie raised her hand to push at her again. Claire didn’t want to use Owen as blackmail to get her kids to behave but she knew it would work and threatening one phone call would be enough to get Charlie to cooperate for the next four months. Not to mention, Owen wouldn’t be impressed when he heard about her antics. Disappointing her father was Charlie’s greatest weakness. 

‘I hate you!’ Claire stiffened, half bent inside the car as her eyes met Charlie’s glaring blue eyes. She meant it, every fibre of her being rushing with anger. ‘I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!’ She continued, kicking her legs despite her seatbelt but not releasing herself even though she could if she really wanted to. 

For a minute, Claire couldn’t move, her heart pounding in her chest as every part of her felt like it was melting towards the floor. She and Charlie were never on the best of terms but _hate_ — and to hear those words so soon in her life — Claire wanted to cry. She shut the door, slamming it a little more than necessary before climbing in the drivers seat. 

The car ride was silent. She didn’t put on the stereo even when Charlie asked, like nothing had conspired in the last twenty minutes and that her mother’s heart wasn’t still sinking to her feet. ‘I have your spare uniform in the back of the car, if you want to put it on now.’ She offered to the girl, letting Charlie out of the car in the school carpark. She was trying for soft, trying to let go of her white knuckled anger but not enough so that Charlie thought she was off the hook. 

Charlie shook her head, practically snatching her bag as she walked towards her classroom, head held high, dressed in her pyjamas as all the other kids stared to stare. Claire couldn’t find the energy to care, knowing it was only a matter of minutes before someone called her about Charlie’s attire. Instead, she climbed back into the drivers seat, body numb, chest aching. Claire let her forehead fall forward, touching it to the top of the steering wheel before a sob managed to break from her. 

She was trying not to be harsh but they paid that school too much money for Charlie to miss a near weeks worth of classes for no reason other than she was heartsick. It was better to save her absent days for actual illnesses, not the comforts of home in her father’s absence. Every new day without Owen was hard, his phone calls and Skype sessions made things easier but he still wasn’t _there_ to take Charlie to the park after school or the zoo, Claire was trying her best but it was only week one. Claire knew she was going to struggle in managing Charlie. They knew she would be a hurdle Claire would have to learn to manage in the coming weeks she had alone with the girl but she seriously never thought Charlie would spit the words _I hate you_ in dire seriousness. It hurt more than Claire cared to admit, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks in the visor mirror before starting the engine. She and Charlie were never on the right foot. Claire blamed herself for that but she was _trying_ to make things better. In the last two years things had greatly improved. Now that Charlie was at school, now that she was learning her _place_ in the world, now that her defiance went unquestioned for so long; she knew how to hit someone right where it hurt. 

She dialled Owen, unsure on what else to do as her car’s bluetooth sung out the dial tone. Claire wasn’t hopeful that he would answer but when she heard the call pick up and her husband chime a greeting she had to catch her breath. 

‘Charlie just told me she hated me.’ She felt her voice crack at the end, Claire trying to keep her cool even towards her husband. She wanted to sound indifferent, didn’t want him to worry when he was so far away. 

‘Oh, babe —‘ 

‘I had to drag her to the _fucking_ car this morning, Owen. In her pyjamas. She’s at school right nowwearing flannelette. She _refused_ to get dressed or come down stairs. She did _not_ want to go to school today and I — I can’t do this, Owen. I can’t. She’s — My maternity leave is up in a month, Elliot will be going to daycare, you’re not here. I can’t do this. How is it so hard to get up and go to _fucking_ school. I ask for six hours, five days a week and we can’t even get through the first week without incident. She’s my kid and I really need — Charlie is going to break me. I need her to go live with your mother or _something_ because I am going to fall apart if she keeps this _shit_ up.’ 

‘Where’s Elliot?’ Owen asked, trying desperately to reach a point of comfort in his wife ensuring that she wasn’t having a melt down with the baby crying in the other room. 

‘We’re in the car.’ Claire pulled over in the same breath, knowing that would be Owen’s next question. ‘I’m a terrible mom.’ 

Owen scoffed. ‘No, you’re not. I’m so proud of you, babe. I bet you were totally kick ass and Charlie’s not too young to recognise that. Wish I could have seen it.’ 

‘Yeah, well, for once I’m glad you weren’t there. You would have ruined the whole thing.’ Claire rolled her eyes, forehead touching her steering wheel again, as she tried to hold back a new set of tears. She missed him like crazy, her skin itching for his warmth and her ears for his laughter real and pure right beside her. 

‘You did great, Mama Lion.’ His voice soothed her. ‘You got that meeting with payroll and Dan this mornin’ don’t ya?’ She hummed her acknowledgement, expressing her anxiety in a single sound. ‘You’ve got this, Claire. Remember you hold the upper hand in there. You’re the best thing Dan has in that whole building and he knows it. He owes you big time after New York.’ 

‘I’m just — what if something happens to Elliot and I’m not there?’ She wobbled the words, dread already twisting in her gut. Owen thought the bond he shared with Charlie surpassed anything known to the planet. His wife and youngest daughter proved him wrong. ‘I want to go back to work but I’m not ready to leave her.’ 

Owen sighed on the other end of the line, the same sound that usually followed him wrapping her in his arms and kissing the top of her head. Claire closed her eyes, trying to imagine him doing just that. ‘That’s perfectly fine, Claire. Like I said, you have all the cards, baby. Royal flush. I gotta go, but you’ve got this. Remind Charlie who’s boss, she’s strong enough to handle it. Love you.’ 

‘I love you, too.’ 

[…]

Heather offered to pick Charlie up from school but Claire remained firmly in the mindset that her daughter would _enjoy_ that too much. Instead, she was early, waiting fifteen minutes before the bell, standing on the footpath beside the school gates with Elliot on her hip, baby itching to wriggle and move after a day of being confined to carseats and conference rooms. Her little body was practically bent in half as she reached for the course red brick, little fingers delighted at a new texture. 

‘Claire!’ Another mother flagged her down, moving towards Claire in long calculated strides. Her heart sank, eyes squeezing closed for a split second before she forced a fake smile across her lips. 

‘Jessica,’ she greeted, tolerating the woman as she fluffed with her clothes. 

‘I heard Charlie had an incident with her uniform this morning.’ The smug look was enough to make Claire want to roll her eyes and walk away. She knew better than to mess with this woman though, ignoring her only ended badly for everyone. Jessica Pullman ran the Parent/Teacher Association and had been hounding Claire for a year. She didn’t offer a response, only shrugged her shoulders and sighed. ‘Well, as you know, it’s the new school year and Charlie’s joined the First Grade. We really need a little more involvement from you when it concerns PTA events! I know that Owen is currently away doing … _whatever._ He promised us some contact hours coaching the girls soccer team — which Charlie is _eager_ to be a part of. Getting both parents on board is a splendid way to ensure your child is a valued member of the school community … and this little one too, when she joins us!’ Jess grinned, reaching out a hand to touch Elliot’s small fist. 

Claire pushed her fake smile across her lips tighter. ‘Yeah, sure. I just have a lot going on at the moment with Owen not being home.’ The bell rang, hoards of children spilling from class rooms and rushing towards the gates. Claire noticed Charlie immediately, red hair tamed from what it had been that morning, still dressed in her pyjamas, now covered in dirt. She was laughing with her friends, head held high, no shame for being out of uniform and in the clothes she slept in. Claire felt a twinge of her anger return. This was a punishment, Charlie should not have been enjoying it. Claire caught her eye, mouthing ‘ _Car. Now.’_ to the girl before turning back to Jess. ‘I’ve really got to get Charlie home but I’ll let you know when I can help out.’ She turned her smile up a little more before turning towards the car and beginning to buckle Elliot in without further conversation. 

[…] 

‘Oh my, did you go to school in that?’ Heather Grady walked in the door seconds after Claire managed to shuffle both girls inside. 

Charlie grinned, answering her grandmother as she ran to give the woman a tight hug. Claire watched from the kitchen, nappy bag still on her shoulder. ‘I forgot to send you a text, Charlie’s not going to karate tonight.’ That was why, Claire assumed, her mother-in-law was there; to collect Charlie and take her to her after school activity. They had tried to work out a routine between Claire and Owen’s family, Heather, Henry and Lorna popping into to entertain the kids on occasion and give Claire the break she usually got when Owen was around. It had been working for the seven days it was in affect. 

‘Oh, why not?’ Heather frowned, sure she had her information correct. 

Claire threw a pointed look at Charlie, ‘Do you want to tell Nana how you behaved this morning?’ The girl shrugged, hands on her hips as she stared her mother down. Claire glared, mouth open ready to share Charlie’s misbehaviour. 

‘I didn’t do nothin’!’ Charlie argued quickly, turning to her grandmother with blazing blue eyes.   
  
‘Oh yes, you did.’ Claire snapped, continuing the stand off between herself and her child, her mother-in-law baring witness as Charlie’s stubborn nature refused to back down. ‘Don’t lie, Charlie, your daddy taught you better than that.’ _She_ had raised her better than that; happy to put up with a few tantrums if it meant her daughters weren’t liars. She rather them naughty and truthful than well behaved and concealing secrets. Claire waited a beat, giving Charlie the opportunity to answer for her own misgivings before her mother stepped in. ‘ _Someone_ decided she wasn’t going to school this morning. I asked her nicely more than once before I had to remove her from her bedroom, with force. As a result, Charlie here, went to school in her pyjamas because she _refused_ to put her uniform on.’ 

Heather was trying to bite back a smile on her face, teeth pressed into the side of her cheek. ‘Now,’ Heather began, crouching down to Charlie’s height. ‘Charlotte, dear, you know you have to work with your mom while dad is away?’ She reached for the girl, fingers gentle on Charlie’s wrist as Claire stood with her arms crossed from the kitchen opening.

Charlie shrugged away from her grandmother with a huff, crossing her own arms over her chest as she pouted. ‘I don’t like her!’ She snapped, almost shouting as she tore her eyes from Heather to Claire. 

‘Excuse me?’ Heather frowned, hoping she had misheard the girl and if not, giving Charlie the opportunity to change her words. 

‘I _HATE_ her!’ Charlie repeated, spitting her words. ‘I hate you!’ She turned to her mother, making sure Claire was looking at her when she repeated herself for a third time. Claire felt her throat close, same bubble of emotion returning along side her rage, as embarrassment flared across her cheeks. She was a little more okay with it when the girl said it with no audience but having Heather there only made the knives sink in deeper. 

‘Step. Now.’ Heather commanded, pointing to the bottom of the stairs and indicating that Charlie should sit there. They didn’t have any place else to send the girl when she had caused trouble. Her room was filled with toys she would only gladly play with and her mother’s office served as a great opportunity for revenge. She followed Charlie, barely looking at Claire as Heather dropped her height again to level with the girl. ‘We do not speak to our mothers like that, _ever._ I need you sit here for twenty minutes and think up an apology. You move. You have to sit here for longer.’ Charlie scowled, arms still crossed as she dropped to the step heavily. 

Heather was quick in ushering Claire out of Charlie’s sight, easily wiping tears off her daughter-in-laws cheeks as she clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘Don’t let her speak to you like that, Claire.’ 

‘What am I supposed to say to that? I just — my heart stops every damn time. I don’t expect her to _love_ me but, God, she acts as if _I_ sent Owen away. I don’t even know how to punish her, Mom, everything I can think of involves something she would see as a reward or it’s not letting her talk to Owen and I can’t even bring myself to follow through with that. It’ll break her heart.'

‘Do it.’ Heather pushed. ‘That little girl in there respects you, because Owen tells her too but without his authority she’s trying to find where your limits lie. She’s pushing the boundaries, Claire, and you need to remind her who is in charge in this house. It’s not just Owen.’ Heather squeezed her arm, trying to get Claire to smile as Elliot grizzled at them from her highchair, tray empty of the Cheerios that had been entertaining her. ‘It’ll hurt but she won’t step out of line again.’ She promised to stay until Owen’s call, giving Claire the courage to deny her eldest the opportunity to speak with her father for the night. Claire didn’t think she could do it, even with Heather there ready to take the reigns when her backbone failed.

She needed it. A second backbone built into her mother-in-law. Claire was learning to understand that Heather was right about a few things. Charlie respected her at arms length, but with only one authority figure standing in her home, she didn’t believe Claire would follow through with her threats. If considered too harsh, Claire wouldn’t. 

When Owen finally called for the night, a little before dinner, Charlie screamed blue murder. Claire had kept her cool, holding her voice steady as she looked her eldest in the eye and remarked that due to her bad behaviour she would not be speaking with her father that evening. Charlie dropped to the floor, knees giving out on her as she shrieked. Her despair was nearly enough to make her mother crumble, Claire understanding how important it was that Charlie get her twenty minute phone call every evening. She couldn’t waver, couldn’t cave too the girl’s hysterics when she had put her mother through hell that morning for no significant reason. 

‘She’ll get to talk to him tomorrow, Claire.’ Heather reminded, sure that Charlie’s behaviour would pick up it’s act after seeing what the punishment was. ‘You did good, I’m proud of you, hun.’ She rubbed her back, trying to catch Claire’s eyes as the younger woman only stared at the staircase. 

Charlie didn’t come down for dinner, another move Heather pulled rank over, telling Claire to let the girl go hungry if she wanted. It was a power grab, the five-year-old trying to take control of a situation she lost. There would be leftovers in the fridge, a plate ready for Charlie when she was ready and a mother willing to make her a sandwich if that was what she needed. Claire hated it. She felt like the bad guy, making things worse when all she wanted to do was call Owen and put him on the phone with the hurting girl. She was still mad with Charlie, but the girl didn’t deserve to be kept away from her father; neither did Owen. She hated hearing the disappointment in his voice when she repeated that Charlie wouldn’t be speaking with him. 

Nevertheless, Claire did as Heather instructed, going about her evening and paying Charlie’s whimpers no mind. The girl had refused to apologise and thus, Heather argued, Claire didn’t need to seek the girl out. She promised quietly, before she left, that the tactic would work. 

She wanted to so desperately push Charlie’s door open and check that she was alright. The child drove her crazy but Claire couldn’t say that she _didn’t care._ Charlie was her world as much as she was Owen’s; they just clashed sometimes. She did what her mother-in-law instructed. 

Claire settled into bed early, hair still wet from a shared shower she had with Elliot on her hip. It was easy to forget to utilise Heather when she was present, the woman sticking around to help with dinner, Claire too caught up in Charlie’s drama to remember that she wanted to wash her hair. She had snuggled the baby down in a soft onesie, wrapping her in a thick blanket before settling down to nurse her in bed. Her laptop was open beside her hip with the intention to one-handedly tap out the email she promised Dan. It wasn’t happening. Even after six-months, Claire was still so dawn into watching Elliot’s small face, her daughter’s eyes fluttering closed as she fought against sleep and filling her stomach. Guilt overcame Claire, she had rarely enjoyed these moments with Charlie. When her eldest was a baby, Claire struggled to be alone in her presence, let alone breastfeed her and happily daze off into the comfort of the warm baby in her arms. It was all she wanted to do with Elliot. She felt guilty for being torn at the time, for not soaking Charlie in the same love Elliot was now receiving. There were days, especially like the one she had just had, where Claire was left wondering if that had an impact on her relationship with the eldest Grady daughter. Owen promised over and over again that Claire was wrong. Charlie was built from fires, ash and embers, nightmares and anxiety. Her blood was filled with resilience and the need to fight, to keep her wits about her and protect what she found sacred. Elliot was so much easier than that. 

Her head snapped up when she heard Charlie sniffle, five-year-old standing in the doorway, eyes red from crying, her cheeks too as she shoved a few fingers in her mouth for comfort. ‘I’m sorry, mommy.’ She blubbered, barely able to get her words out before she started crying fresh tears, emotion bubbling over as her bottom lip wobbled and drool slipped down her wrist. She was mess of snot, saliva and sweat, likely running a temperature because she had worked herself up. Claire ushered her forward immediately, unable to get up and scoop the girl into her arms herself. 

Charlie tucked herself under her mother’s arm easily, side of her sleep shirt soaking with her tears instantly. ‘Oh baby, this is why we behave.’ She wanted to tell her it was OK, everything was alright, but knew Charlie still had to learn a lesson for seeking out her mother’s pressure points. She closed the lid of her laptop, pushing it further down the bed, as her hand pried Elliot’s fingers from a lock of Charlie’s hair before sliding through the red strands herself. ‘Mommy’s got to be the boss sometimes and even if you don’t like it, you still have to listen to me.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Like going to school, no argument on that unless you’re sick.’ The girl nodded again. ‘It really hurt my feelings what you said, Charlie.’ She didn’t expect an exact apology for the words, Claire knew no matter how battered her ego was Charlie wouldn’t apologise for expressing how she felt. Whether she was entitled to tell her mother she hated her or not, she couldn’t see Charlie taking that back. 

‘Can I sleep with you?’ Charlie mumbled, her question sounding infantile with her fingers still trapped between her teeth. 

‘Are you going to go to school when I ask?’ She nodded. ‘Promise?’ Charlie whistled the word with a sniffle. ‘Can we please be friends again?’ Claire didn’t think she had ever been _friends_ with Charlie, but at least on sociable terms. The girl nodded softly. ‘I love you, Charlie.’ Claire watched her daughter stroke Elliot’s head softly, infant closer to sleep than wakefulness as her sister stoked a line from the top of her head to her ear, smoothing out her small tuft of hair before starting again. The girl didn’t answer, only tucked herself closer and closed her eyes, leaving her mother’s admission hanging between them softly. 

They were going to have to keep working on it. 


	171. #171 - Composure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn : Oh my god you just screamed ‘SO WHAT IF I LIKE YOU WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?’ at the top of your lungs in a very crowded restaurant and how about for starters I take you home and get you sober??? (from @dailyau )

****Claire Dearing _never_ lost her composure.

In five years Owen hadn’t seen her so much as flinch. Even when they threw barbs at each other, white hot and fizzing with lightning, scornful words and damaging comments. She held her cool. He watched her walk the whole park in stilettos, never tripping or faltering in her step. Investors were put at the top of her list and were shown the best time Claire could organise. So far as Owen could tell, she had no personal time — nothing for herself that involved _not working_ for more than an hour.

She fought hard for her job, for the respect she holds in Control and the fear she struck into the hearts of everyone below her. Owen was a little more than surprised when he spotted her at Sun Rio on a Friday night, mixing with guests and staff alike. She had kept to herself until someone invited her over, pulling Claire into their group in the back corner and telling her to mingle.

‘You’re not the boss here, let loose, get to know everyone!’ The girl who had said it worked with Claire, or so Owen thought. He couldn’t quite remember her mousy face and wide brown eyes. He would have remembered someone like that if he _knew_ them. The way she spoke to Claire suggested familiarity, or she was new — hadn’t learnt to avoid Claire yet.

She joined them, standing around the edge like a timid beast. Claire was unsure of her place amongst them and was thus facing the probability of dancing upon their request. Claire was not a show horse; Owen knew that much but she was far more intimidated here than he had ever seen her. Maybe she would do tricks for apples if the pressure was applied heavy enough.

Owen wanted to be the one to push her but knew she wouldn’t respond to him. Instead, he sat back and watched, Claire’s gaze meeting his on occasion as she knocked back drink after drink. He wasn’t counting how much she had downed socially, joining in with the twenty-somethings when they proposed a Never-Have-I-Ever esque game. She was swaying, barely on her feet when Owen got up to stand behind her, using his side to barricade Claire and hopefully keep her upright.

‘How many of those have you had to drink?’ He asked taking the Long Island iced tea from her hands. That wasn’t what she started with. He was faintly certain it was a gin and tonic, or water, or vodka but he was doubtful on the latter. She giggled as she turned, facing him with glassy eyes and rose-red cheeks. Her shrug was slight, unsure and a little endearing as she reached for the glass he had confiscated. ‘I think it’s time for you to go home, Claire.’ Owen offered his hand on her hip, trying to politely guide her away from the group and towards the door.

Claire shook her head. ‘You invited me,’ He hadn’t. At least, he thought he hadn’t — not for tonight. There had been nights he told her to let loose, to free herself with the other staff that bunkered down in Sun Rio until the sun rose again. She denied him, every time, going so far as to promise he would never see her face in that place so long as they both lived. She had been wrong on that. He saw her there, so did fifteen or so others. She socialised, joked, listened, played. Owen was sure it was the most Claire had bonded with anyone. He wasn’t going to lie. He liked seeing her like that; a little more free and a little less chained to her desk.

‘That might be so, but you are _wasted_ and it’s not quite eleven.’ He was trying to save her from humiliation. Knowing that if she went any longer Claire Dearing would be one of three things; on the floor, vomiting, or topless. He didn’t know which kind of girl to peg her as and although he _really_ wanted to know; he didn’t want to do it at the expense of her reputation.

He was slowly inching her towards the door, progress slow but sure. ‘I like you, Owen.’ Her body swayed back towards his, head tilted to grin at him with the same drunken smile he had seen on too many girls. ‘You’re sweet but you don’t like to show it.’ He ignored her, vision zeroed in on the door. He just had to get her out of the humid bar and into the chilled air, enough to hopefully sober her. Claire stopped moving, feet stuck to the ground, legs rigid, refusing to let him move her. ‘I LIKE YOU WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!’ She shouted Owen’s hands dropped to her hips, pushing her with a little more force as he hurried her the last few feet out the door. His laugh was loud when they broke free of the bar, fresh air rushing around their skin. ‘Don’t you like me?’ She returned to her pout, eyes scanning his face as she tilted her chin to look up at him.

Claire fidgeted under his gaze. A move Owen never expected from her, as the alcohol buzzed in her system. ‘Of course, I do.’ He promised, seriousness blazing in his eyes. God, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and feel the thrum of her heart against his chest, the soft touch of her hair under his chin. He wanted to taste her lips and feel the bite of her lips. Owen considered that he _more_ than liked Claire. He wanted her weight over him and her moans in his ear, Owen wanted to watch the world burn with Claire Dearing by his side. ‘But, you’re drunk and I much prefer that admission when you’re sober.’ He added, watching her smile falter as she stepped away. ‘C’mon, I’m gonna getcha home.’ He reached his hand out for her, fingers grazing her shoulder as Claire stepped closer, a little unbalanced but capable of leading the way back to the apartment blocks.

‘See,’ she stumbled closer to him. ‘You’re kind.’ Her finger touched his nose, bopping him sweetly as she giggled.

He smiled, enthralled with her state as she swayed a few steps ahead of him. ‘And you need to drink more … but maybe not this much.’


	172. #172 - To Build a Home: After Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen sends Claire extremely dirty texts KNOWING she’s in a late night meeting  
> ANON: Can you write about Claire riding Owen’s face. Pretty please.

She was watching the sun set over the city from the high rise view of her office building. The end of month financials were almost her favourite and her least liked meetings under her array of compulsory tasks. The only reason why she enjoyed it had everything to do with the view.

Claire watched the sky split into a multitude of colours until her phone buzzed in her hand, drawing her attention away for a split second so she could check the notification. It had to be Owen, she expected it to be him, letting her know he was heading home from the construction site they were calling their dream property. He was back at their small rental, text complaining that it was strange to find her not there but that he wouldn’t wait for her to get home to eat. There was no use, she was set to be stuck for another three hours and Owen wasn’t the kind of guy who could keep himself awake for that long.

She shot back a reply, promising to be home no later than nine and quiet when she slipped in the door for him. He told her not to worry, unbothered if she woke him so long as he knew she was home safe and sound.

Staff started to trickle in, just as her assistant began setting up a small tea and coffee station, double checking with Claire if they would be taking a dinner order within the hour or telling staff to fend for themselves. They catered, adding to the appeal to staying back at the office to ensure all numbers had be processed correctly and to go over where they went wrong for the month in addition to perspectives for the next four weeks. Claire was just glad she wasn’t the one giving the run down, delegating the task to several different heads of department. It was a tactic to ensure everyone was engaged, different speakers but also putting the responsibility on the heads of her employees.

They weren’t ten minutes in when her phone flashed, text preview appearing on the screen in front of her, accompanying Owen’s name.

 _I just got out of the shower._ She didn’t think anything of it, humming quietly to herself as she ignored the message, swiping it off her screen with a swift flick of her wrist. _You’re wearing that green set to work, aren’t you?_ Either he had seen her put it on that morning or noticed it was missing from the dedicated section in their closet. _Naughty girl_. He was shooting messages despite Claire’s lack of response, the woman leaning forward to unlock her phone, leaving the chat open on her knee and out of sight. She was curious about how far he would take it despite the warmth that was already trailing up her spine.

Owen _knew_ where she was and what she was doing. Nevertheless, he gave her access to his inner thoughts. _I want to be in you right now. I want to feel you around me, over me, on me. Warm. Wet. Begging._

She locked her phone again, pushing the device into her handbag as she felt the flush burn across her cheeks, mind playing filthy images of Owen laid out on their bed, one hand lazily stroking his dick while the other typed out those messages, the cocky grin on his face caught between ecstasy and amusement.

Claire felt her pulse jump all night, steadying to a calm beat before her mind wandered again drifting back to Owen’s messages and where he was currently. She knew without a doubt he’d have passed out on the couch in sweats, a beer in his hand, a box of pizza on the coffee table. By the time she gets home he will have cleaned and moved. It was a rare afternoon that Claire wasn’t itching to get out of meetings, no matter the text messages on her phone. Her thighs were itching for his skin and the graze of his rough stubble, she wanted him hot and hard against her; immediately.

The second they were released Claire was out the door, not hesitating to mingle or double check her assistant’s questions. Instead, Claire calmly made a run for it, breaking free to the parking garage without having anyone stop her to waste some time. Late night meetings were hard before they started no one wanted to be there and after they ended no one could bring themselves to tear away from the group that huddled in their business clothes, bellies full with a meal and hands warm with hot beverages. Claire had fallen prey to the appeal, the allure of the city twinkled beneath them, happy to spend an extra hour getting to know her co-workers while her partner snoozed, sleep disrupted, unable to settle until she was home.

Their apartment building was dark when she pulled up, parking on the street out of ease rather than dealing with squeezing into her underground space. Her heels were harsh on the concrete landing, unforgiving on sleeping ears as she tried to step carefully, tension building in her gut. The door unlocked soundlessly, allowing Claire to slip inside and take her shoes off without having Owen’s bulk of a shadow meet her in the doorway. A hand on the wall allowed Claire to securely find her way to the bedroom, streetlight flooding through the blinds in a blue glow, enough for Claire to make out every dark shape in the room.

Owen was out cold, lying on his back, one hand on his chest, legs sprawled this way and that on top of the covers. She had been right in her earlier daydreams, Owen clad in his favourite grey sweatpants and nothing else. Claire took one look at him before a grin grew across her cheeks, sweet revenge playing in her mind. He was a light sleeper, there was a chance Owen would wake before she got close enough but his reaction was worth the risk.  
  
Teetering on one leg at the end of the bed, Claire tried to steady her balance as she peeled one stocking off and then the other, releasing them from her suspenders before she hiked up her skirt a few inches and tiptoed towards his side of the bed. Claire steadied herself for a second watching the space in the dark as she planned her move. With a little leverage from the bedhead, Claire managed to hoist herself up, throwing one leg over Owen’s shoulders while the other remained perched on the bed’s frame. She lowered herself slowly, sigh slight joy as she felt Owen’s hands slide up the backs of her thighs.

‘Hey, babe.’ She grinned, voice soft, lulling him out of the sleep he had been in. His eyes were closed, smile climbing his lips as she settled, crotch over his face, the fabric of her skirt pulling tightly over her hips as she spread her knees to accommodate the girth of his shoulders. ‘What were you thinking, sending me messages like that at work?’ The fingers of one hand slid into his hair, tugging softly as he grunted.

Owen hummed, mouth in contact with her lace covered centre. The exact same green fabric he had speculated had been gone before. She could hear the happy tones at the end of his hum, pleased and surprised as his fingers dug into her thighs, his tongue sliding across her tentatively at first. Claire shifted her weight, trying to pull herself off him, but Owen wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he buried himself against her nudging her underwear aside to have full access to her skin.

‘I was thinkin’, _I hope she comes home soon so I can fuck her.’_

Claire felt something in her spine give way as all the air rushed out of her lungs in a surprised exhale. Owen, beneath her, rolled her clit between his teeth, causing Claire to jump at the sensation. She wanted to move, to climb off him, her joke over. He could feel it in the way her thighs tensed, not in pleasure, but holding her weight from actually _sitting_ on him. Owen wasn’t going to let her go that easily. His hands kept hold of her thighs, massaging the muscle there, coaxing her into letting go as she settled on his face mouth nestled perfectly between her thighs as the scratch of his stubble teased her skin.

He hummed against her, thick rumble vibrating against her as Claire shifted her hips impatient and needy, three hours of sexual tension bubbling in her stomach with the eager anticipation of release. Owen would find the limits of her oblivion with his tongue alone, coaxing bliss from within her and soothing her soul. That man oozed sex appeal and with it came great talent that left Claire’s eyes rolling into the back of her head without having to touch her. It was early months in their relationship and yet, he had awoken something within her, a need Claire never prioritised until now.

‘Oh _shit_.’ She stuttered, body jolting, Owen nipping at her sensitive skin, teeth, lips tongue. He was all over her, his mouth and hands claiming the lower half of her body, holding her there, catching every sensation and setting all her nerves on fire.

She arched her back, hands slipping from his hair to find support on his stomach, fingers barely touching him as she let herself relax into the feeling. Fully clothed, Claire felt bare to the world, head thrown back, feeling her hair dancing against her arms as she watched the ceiling through half closed eyes. She could do away with anything if it meant keeping this feeling, Owen warm around her, strong, supportive, hell bent on finding her release but taking his time in doing so. He knew how to play her like a harp; plucking at the right strings, masterfully taught.

He surrendered a hand from it’s flexing hold on her hip, sliding it up the curve of her spine, counting each bone on its climb. His fingers slotted between her ribs, fitting perfectly as he held her up. She didn’t so much as feel his other hand leave her, but noticed his concentration was drawn for a few second before returning with gusto.

Owen had untangled his hands from her thighs, letting the one that wasn’t holding her up, snake beneath the elastic of his slacks. His hips jerked, muscles in his stomach moving under Claire’s fingers. ‘You had your turn.’ She swatted for his hand, trying to sound angry as her head swam. She was feeling selfish, wanted his attention one-hundred-and-ten per cent on her body and not on his dick. Owen caught her wrist, his arm in a better position to manipulate her movements as he twisted her hand and replaced his grip with hers, guiding tight tugs up his shaft before Claire took control, promising with a consistent rhythm that she wouldn’t let go.

She hated the way he grinned; cocky, too confident. It was always built on a slow crawl, creeping across his face like the drawl of his accent. With that smile, he was always laid back, the funny guy, all knowing and all empowered. He needed nothing but simple joy on his lips. She loved that smile. Like he knew her inner secrets, every part of her clockwork laid out in the sun, perfectly examined before he put her back together again. Claire Dearing both loved and hated the feel of his self-congratulatory grin against the inside of her shaking thighs. It felt as though he knew when she was on the brink before Claire’s body was able to share the message with her mind. He always _knew,_ grin growing as her thighs shook, body trembling, breath barely making it in and out of her lungs as her head span with the lack of oxygen.

Sex was an enjoyable sport, but Owen enjoyed himself a little too much, his glee caught in the lines of his face and the eager movements of his tongue lapping at her greedily like he was never going to be given the opportunity again.

Claire broke, somewhere between cursing his name and sitting up to lock her fingers in his hair. He was chuckling, the sound tactile as she fell apart, her fingers pulling tighter just for his humour.

Owen flipped them easily, his arms wound around her back as he used pure strength to move her without either of them getting hurt. He kissed the inside of her thigh softly before crawling up her body, one hand shoving at the waistband of his slacks as he kicked them off, Claire still trying to catch her breath. ‘We need to make a habit of this.’ He chuckled, an easy grin on his lips as he kissed her fondly.

She arched a brow, hand lazily pushing through his hair as she watched Owen tackle the buttons on her blouse. ‘What? Me trying to smother you?’

‘Oh, that’s what you were tryin’ to do?’ His smirk widened, her shirt open, porcelain skin wrapped in emerald green on display. Claire whacked him on the arm, eyes closed, desperate to catch her breath. ’I _knew_ you had this on.’ He muttered to himself, kissing each breast before he yanked at her skirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. ‘I’m just sayin’ if you wanna come home from those meetin’s and sit on my face while I’m sleepin’. I’m not gonna complain.’

‘Of course, you won’t.’ Claire smirked, watching him place calculated kisses on her stomach. ‘There’s no fun in _knowing_ it’s going to happen.’ She teased, eyes caught on his fingers flexing at her hips. He slid his hands under her ass, squeezing the flesh there before he yanked her forward, sliding the woman further down the bed, their hips pressed together.

‘You’re no fun.’ Owen pouted, hand leaving her backside only to return to it with a swift smack. His pout was deep, playful and teasing as he leant down to kiss her frown away. She could give him no fun if he really wanted but there was no way Claire could avoid Owen’s playful moods. Turning him down would only cause the man to pout like a puppy and it really didn’t suit him.

She only winked at him, a smirk growing across her cheeks as she rolled under his hold, leaving her lace clad ass in his face as she wiggled it at him. Satisfaction pooled in her belly at the sound of his growl. Who was he calling _no fun_?


	173. #173 - High School Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn & birdmacklin & a few anons: 'the only thing better than fake relationship fics is fake relationship fics when the pair go to one of their high school reunions and the other person ends up showing them off and in the end everyone else is jealous'
> 
>  
> 
> from: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/146641874029/timberlaking-the-only-thing-better-than-fake
> 
>  
> 
> ANON: "their pick up line wasn't as good as any of mine, I'm just saying."
> 
> from: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/145494447129/friends-or-more-sentence-starters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started working on this in July last year (the 5th to be exact) it’s just shy of a year and it has killed me for all 11 months I’ve tried to get it finished. Enough to say that I hate it a little and don’t think think it’s that great but I also hate having unfinished fics sitting around. It’s also nearly 9k which is my cut off for prompts and I make them a stand alone – but I didn’t like this one enough to be that kindly. I also hate telling people that I think something is shit because self-deprecation drives me up the wall but I just don’t want you to have any great expectations. They will probably be crushed. But, please, still read if I haven’t annoyed you enough by now.
> 
> Thank goodness it is done and hopefully it holds up to some expectation that you probably lost like 8 months ago.

It was her favourite kind of warm morning. Their feet hit the pavement in a familiar rhythm, shoes thudding against concrete, breath falling from their lungs as they ran in time. He was taller than her by a bare few inches, keeping Claire on her toes in all senses of the phrase. Owen always provided for a sweet challenge, the man cocking an eyebrow as he dared her into something entirely too ridiculous. Claire couldn’t remember a time where she had been more active. Sure, she dieted and made a tri-weekly trip to the gym, but since moving to San Diego, Owen forced her outdoors. They hiked in good weather, swam too, and ran rain or shine from their arranged spot to their local coffee shop before lazily jogging back to their cars.

Owen changed her for the better, regardless of if Claire wanted him to or not. He was free to lead his own life once Jurassic World officially crumbled, and yet Owen chose to drag Claire around the city partaking in various forms of exercise. She wasn’t about ready to complain when the man she couldn’t stand suddenly became her best friend. Owen was the only one, aside from her nephews, who knew what they went through. He sympathised in the middle of the night when she called him, barely able to sleep. Returning the favour when he turned up on her doorstep looking as though he had returned from a war. 

Neither of them tried to start a relationship. They were too busy trying to give the other space as they warded off all ideas of romance, unwilling to find themselves in traumatised entanglements. Instead, they ran, they met for lunch breaks and coffee dates, dancing around the idea that maybe they wanted something more from the other. 

They shared a kiss in the mayhem on Main Street, Owen’s mouth pressed hotly against hers, drenched in relief and frizzled desperation. It was heat of the moment, nothing else came of it. When Claire mentioned an apartment she had found in San Diego, Owen followed because he wanted too not because they had caught themselves in an inescapable dependancy. 

The local coffee shop was bright and welcoming for half past eight in the morning, brimming with patrons waiting for their liquid life. Claire was still trying to regulate her breathing as she leant against the raised table. Owen was getting their drinks, sweat already soaking a v into the back of his shirt as Claire moved from watching his form and fiddling with her fitness app.

Claire didn’t realise someone had stopped at her table until he opened his mouth, in an attempt to get her attention. ‘I’ve got a love story for you: long black meets flat white.’ The man in front of her had his hip perched on her table, cocky all-too-confident grin on his face. Claire raised an eyebrow, locking her phone as she slid it back into her pocket. She studied the man as if to determine whether he was worth the hassle or not. 

‘She orders the juice.’ Owen was beside her in a second, their drinks placed on the table in front of her as his hand found the small of her back. The other man slinked away at the sight of Owen’s broad shoulders and possessive demeanour. He had no claim to Claire, but knew how to show that he did. She didn’t need his help either, but was thankful that she didn’t have to waste her breath trying to shoo away that idiot.

‘Thank you,’ Claire sighed, grabbing her juice before they moved for the door. Smile thankful as she gave it to him over her shoulder. 

Owen shrugged. His hand hovered over the small of her back as they stepped outside, warm sun greeting their eager faces. ‘Yeah, well, his pick up line wasn’t as good as any of mine.’ He hummed, grinning as Claire glared. ‘I’m just sayin’,’ He shrugged again. 

‘Let’s here one then?’ She challenged, keeping her step in line with his as they stepped onto the sidewalk. 

Owen grinned, devilish smile building across his cheeks as he raised a brow. ‘Still going with the coffee theme?’ He asked, waiting for her nod as he pretending to think. Claire rolled her eyes with a defeated sign, humming something about even playing field as he cleared his throat. ‘I like my ladies like I like my coffee; a hot shock to the lap.’ Claire didn’t hesitate in flinging her arm towards him hitting him square in the gut. ‘Yeah, a little lower than that.’ He teased, one had rubbing at the spot she had offended. She protested with a loud laugh. Owen was just as ridiculous as she _knew_ he was, not that he had ever tried to prove himself otherwise. 

They walked the rest of their way to _their_ park bench in silence, Claire settling in the seat, her legs stretched in front of her as Owen dropped his heavy weight beside her. ‘So, ah.’ He stuttered, immediately altering the mood of their morning as Claire tried not to turn a concerned eye on him the second he started speaking. His hand found the back of his head, scratching nervously as he watched the space between her shoulder and her cheek. ‘My high school reunion is coming up and I, ah, I need a date.’ 

‘You don’t _need_ a date, Owen _._ ’ She rolled her eyes, smiling at him fondly as she half squinted in the sunlight.

He shrugged, hand tapping her hip shyly. He started doing that a lot since they broke free of the island; the back of his hand finding her, giving a soft tap. ‘I would really like one.’ His eyes met hers, intense puppy green trying not to frown. She sighed, straightening her posture before kicking her legs out again. Claire could have very easily said no to the question he was imply. Even without the dates she could have played off a busy weekend due to work or a long planned visit with Karen. He would talk her out of the former and if the latter were true it was likely Owen would have preferred to stay there with her; see her nephews again, check with his own two eyes that they were still okay. 

‘Thought you might want to come.’ Owen shrugged as he watched the park move in front of them, people going about their day completely unaware that he was making a fool of himself. Claire agreed readily and with little thought. It would take nothing out of her schedule to accompany her friend to his high school reunion, in fact it would fill an empty weekend from the void he would have left her with if he went alone. 

[…]

It wasn’t until they reached Minnesota, Owen standing in the aisle, trying to pull their bags from the overhead compartment — while Claire tried not to reach out and touch the honey skin and _happy trail_ his shirt revealed — that Owen announced something he should have mentioned much earlier. ‘Just a heads up,’ he dropped his bag to his vacant seat. ‘My parents think we’re dating.’ 

She felt her neck almost snap as she raised her gaze to his, glare already burning in her eyes as she stared at him. They had been sitting on a plane for five-and-a-half hours and he had not managed to bring up the misinformation in his parents head’s. 

Claire chanced a look at the other passengers slowly milling out of the plane as they collected their belongings in single file. There was a young girl standing behind Owen, waiting for him to move so she could be one step closer to exiting the plane. Claire offered her a small smile before she turned hard eyes back to the object of her frustration. ‘Are you _serious?!_ ’ She hissed, revelling in the way he flinched. Claire almost dropped back in her seat, sheer dread pulling her down. He only watched her with wide apologetic eyes, shrugging his duffle bag over his shoulder. 

He was saved by the moving line of people, putting space between himself and Claire. When they had managed to disembark and step into the terminal, they were pulled into the tide of airport ruckus, too busy trying to move from Point A to Point B and collect their luggage before it disappeared. It wasn’t until Owen had managed to do a thorough check of the hire car and climb in, that Claire managed to grill him on the subject at hand. 

‘Why didn’t you tell them that we’re not dating?’ She glared at him, her anger momentarily forgotten, rearing up again now they had some privacy. Owen was sure there was steam rolling out of her ears, pent up anger finally being released. 

He shrugged, ‘I couldn’t’. 

‘You _couldn’t?’_ Claire rolled her eyes, trying to hold back the slightest hint of amusement that tickled the back of her mind. She wanted to yell at him beyond seething words but something inside of her couldn’t be angry at him. 

It was ridiculous for two grown adults to _pretend_ to be in a relationship, especially in front of his family. Claire had no issue with staying in Owen’s family home when he first mentioned it. But now, now he was expecting her to act like a couple, his parents would watch her more closely and Claire wasn’t sure she was ready to look at him like that. 

‘I don’t know. After years in the Navy and then Jurassic World, I guess, they just want to know that there’s a chance I’m going to settle down and stop putting my life on the line. I guess, they just heard you were coming with and immediately assumed you were my _girlfriend_. I just felt ridiculous trying to tell them that we’re only trying to fool people I haven’t seen in a decade, not them.’ 

Claire wound the window down, watching as the road broke from airport driveways into city traffic, Owen manning the wheel like he had done the trip a thousand times before. ‘What’s our story then?’She asked, watching the side of his face before her gaze turned to the setting sun. 

‘What?’ 

‘Our story? You said your mother thought we were dating, which means your dad does too. What do we tell them to make it seem believable?’ She was business, no nonsense, sitting in the passenger side of a rental car, her hair on fire in the setting sun. Owen turned his head to check she was being serious and found he didn’t want to look away. He was goner. It was bad enough he thought she was _something_ more than any other woman that crossed his path and now he pulled her into _this_ game he wasn’t going to be able to survive. 

‘Um, I thought we could just be Owen and Claire? Tell the truth.’ 

Claire hummed, ‘We’re not in a relationship, Owen, that’s the truth’. He should have known Claire Dearing would pick this idea to pieces. ‘We need something. One consistent story so we don’t contradict each other.’

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. She had a point but Owen didn’t know where to begin. ‘We met on the island?’ Everyone was bound to know that story. The second they caught a glance of Claire, her hair a little longer now, people would realise she was the very one in the same spotted on security footage; unleashing the T-Rex. It had been a year but no body was likely to forget that redhead. Not on close inspection. 

Claire rolled her head against the back of the chair, obnoxious snore lifting from her. ‘Boring.’ 

‘Did you —?’ He wanted to pull over just so he could stare at her. Claire was fun, she was lively, had a comedic side he thanked his lucky stars for. But never had she pretended to snore or tell him he was boring. 

‘Everyone will buy it, but it’s not enough. Off-island. Maybe before you started working at Jurassic World? You spent a few weeks in Costa Rica, drinking, sightseeing, trying to find your place in civilian life before joining a research project that would either see you killed or have you down in history as the first — and only — man to train a velociraptor. We met at a bar —.’ 

‘And what? You became another one of my conquests? Do you really want to be known like that?’ He laughed at her, hand tapping her hip playfully. 

Claire scoffed, ‘The one who tamed you, more like it’. 

Owen shook his head, she was brilliant but her over thought plan wasn’t going to help. He blindly reached for her hands, swatting her phone away as Claire complained that she was taking notes. ‘No, okay. Too complicated. Plus, my mom would go bat shit if she knew I was sleeping with you for six years and never brought you home — or mentioned you.’ Claire opened her mouth, ready to explain that maybe that had been on again off again and it had only been serious until now. ‘You are brilliant, don’t get me wrong. But, we need something easier than that. Sure, we met six-years ago when I started at Jurassic World. We were introduced, I _fell_ for you immediately. You’re smart, funny, _gorgeous_ as hell, and refused to take a bar of me. You, well, maybe fell into irritation at first sight? I was messy, a little rogue, not used to being out from under the Navy’s thumb. Got myself pretty close to being fired for sexual harassment. We flirted around each other for a few years, mostly kept to ourselves and then maybe a few months before the incident we started something — pretty casual thing, you weren’t looking for a relationship but knew I was the only guy on the island _hung_ larger than those beasts you had cooked up in that lab.’ He stopped, tearing his eyes from the road to wink at her as Claire grimaced, happily following his story until he got stupid. ‘It was just sex — we won’t tell my mom that — it turned into dinner, breakfast, lunch, until before we knew it our lives were intwined so deeply I couldn’t see where I ended and you began. The incident happened, we were kind of in a shit place for a bit but if anything tragedy teaches two hearts that they can survive together; they always will.’

He stopped, waiting for her opinion but was only met with silence in the car, road noise softly drifting over their heads. ‘See, simple. Pretty close to our own lives that we’re not _really_ lying.’ He wasn’t lying about anything other than their relationship. He had fallen head over heels with Claire Dearing the first time he laid eyes on her, she didn’t even look his way and the man vowed to do whatever it took to get her attention. ‘Claire?’ He called for her, hand waving in front of her face, worried he had bored her to sleep or she’d had an aneurism and he missed it. 

‘Yeah, um — that works. I like it.’ She was already struggling to find the lines between what was really them and what wasn’t. ‘Two years?’ She asked, turning her head towards him softly. Owen nodded. ‘So, we would know quite a bit about each other, yeah?’ 

He nodded again, ‘Claire, no one’s going to quiz us and if they do; make it up. The only people who are going to know the answers are my parents and they’re really not into playing twenty questions.’ 

‘But, we should know the answers. I mean, what if your mom wants to make sure she has a breakfast food I’d like?’   
  
Owen shrugged, chuckling softly. ‘Oh, I already had that covered. Raisin toast and that weird olive butter you like? Which, I think probably goes against your diets, but I’m not counting. No coffee, because you’re on this _kick;_ juice — if it’s coming from a carton you prefer orange or tropical in the mornings.’ He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he spoke, completely missing the way Claire was staring at him, mouth agape. When had he learnt those things? They lived in different apartments in different parts of the city. They caught up for coffee in the mornings, but rarely did they eat together.   
  
‘What?’ catching her out the corner of his eye, Owen laughed nervously.  
  
Claire shook her head. ‘I just — I don’t even know what you eat for breakfast. We’ve been in San Diego a year, and I’d like to think I know a fair bit about you but I don’t think I do.’   


‘Easy,’ Owen grinned, smile radiant in the evening sun. ‘I’m a porridge guy. Or peanut butter toast. Coffee black. The worse it tastes; the more I like it.’ She knew the last one. The others surprised her, although once she put some thought into she could see why those were his favourite food options in the mornings. ‘Don’t worry about it. Honestly; if anything they’ll quiz us about 1. Marriage — you won’t admit to being fascinated by the idea of seeing yourself in white and I’m not sure if I’ll ever commit that far. Though, if pressured to answer, I would say I definitely want to marry you. 2. Kids — we’ve talked about it lightly. You don’t want them. I do. And 3. What made us fall for the other — which, honestly, you can answer that however you like, I won’t be picky.’ 

‘You really thought about this, didn’t you?’ 

‘I mean, yeah, only because you’re makin’ me think about it.’ He grimaced, curious if it had been the wrong thing to do. He was only going off what he knew about her in their years of interaction, how she responded in certain situations and what she had _told_ him in the dark of the night when nightmares wouldn’t let her sleep. ‘Seriously though, Claire, my family are going to be far more interested in you than trying to figure out if we’re dating or lying for the hell of it.’ 

Claire was biting off more than she could chew in a task that he thought would be so simple. When his mother said she couldn’t wait to meet his girlfriend, Owen went with it, correction stuck in his throat. Innocently and selfishly, he thought he would get away with touching her more, leaning into her side when she spoke, kissing her cheek when he thought she was brilliant, love overwhelming him. He thought, stupidly, that Claire would be comfortable enough to hold up the guise. 

[…]

The house was quiet on a long street, Claire caught listening to Owen’s memories as the car rolled along the roads, his hands pointing in the dark to parklands and driveways, stories flying off his tongue. The neighbourhood was quaint, far enough from the city to pass as the suburbs but not far enough to match town life. It was the sort of place families moved to in order to let their growing children get a _real_ childhood, local schools within walking distance, plenty of park space for extracurricular activities. In fact, she had been raised in a similar area in Madison. 

It seemed so unnaturally Owen, tall teenage boy skateboarding to his friends’ places or riding his bike. It wasn’t secluded. There was no quiet space void of people. Claire couldn’t imagine his loner nature survived well in this capacity. She knew it wasn’t nurtured there regardless, that Owen’s want to be alone was born in the Navy and bred in his time there. 

‘So, this is it. The final home my family moved too.’ His father was a sailor just as Owen had been, the family moving every four years to follow his career, jumping from base to base as Owen and his three brothers bounced through different schools. ‘We actually lived here when I was in Elementary and then moved, mom thought it was bittersweet that we came back and settled. I finished high school with a group of kids I _actually_ knew. No longer the new kid but an old friend.’ 

‘That would have been nice.’ Claire hummed, hand in her hair, elbow leaning on the passenger door.‘Were they welcoming?’ Owen hummed, nodding in the dark as he turned a smile to her. They were as welcoming as a cohort of teenagers could be. He distinctly remembered that none of them had changed. A few got braces while others lost them. the girls — they changed physically, but mentally he remembered them exactly as they had been. 

‘Ready to go in?’ He asked, car parked, handbrake on, engine off in his parents’ driveway. Owen was trying not to notice the light from the front door, gold glow emitting from the open space, his mother already standing there to greet him home. ‘Fair warning; I haven’t been home in a little while and my mom can be a little _overbearing_ at times. She means well.’ He winked at her, hand reaching over the centre console to squeeze Claire’s before he opened the door and climbed out, keys jingling in his hands. 

She heard his mother greet him, her joy rising up and over the car as Claire climbed out, nerves twitching at her fingers. It had been a long time since she had stepped foot in a family home. For so long, things were just Claire and her apartment, exterior visits extending to the inside of her office and her on island apartment. It was only recently, that she started stepping into other people’s homes, Barry and Lowery, a few of Owen’s friends in San Diego. This was different; this was coming home to his _parents_ and despite it all being a rouse, Claire really wanted them to like her.   
  
‘You couldn’t have waited for us to knock on the door first?’ Owen teased, almost bent in half to hug his short mother, large grin on his face visible even in the dark.

Claire watched Carolyn Grady fuss over her son in the dark, squeezing him tightly before she pulled back to grasp his face in both hands. ‘You made me wait three years, I wasn’t going to wait a second longer.’ 

‘You haven’t been home in three years?’ Claire asked, shock slipping past her lips critiquing before she could catch it. As if forgetting herself, Carolyn jumped, almost pushing Owen aside to approach Claire, her arms outstretched. 

‘I like you already; scolding!’ Carolyn chuckled, watching as her son passed them to pull Claire’s bag from the trunk of the rental car. Owen rolled his eyes, bags in one hand as the other found the small of Claire’s back and suggested that they head inside. ‘Oh look at you! Owen, she’s darling.’ Carolyn beamed, Owen and Claire now standing in the front entry of her home. She took a step back away from his mother and towards Owen, unused to someone that close inspecting her. 

Owen’s hand wound around her hip, pulling her closer, his fingers splaying across her stomach in a protective hold. ‘You don’t think we can go put our things down before you smother us?’ He asked, tone light as Carolyn stepped away from them with a nod. 

‘Oh, of course, how silly of me — you’ll both be in your old room, dear. I’ll go finish dinner, come down when you’re settled.’ She disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, ducking around the corner and busying herself with the promised meal. 

Owen shrugged at Claire, apologising slightly as she pulled herself away from him. ‘Probably should have mentioned that I’ve never brought a girl home before and my mom has always been _weird_ about that.’ Claire was silent, leading him up the stairs without knowing where she was going, hesitantly waiting for Owen’s instruction. ‘My brothers are all married with kids or in serious long-term relationships. I can’t tell you the number of girls that came in and out of this house when I was a kid.’ She could imagine, the walls decks in pictures of Owen’s parents and four boys varying in ages. 

‘I didn’t know you had so many brothers.’ She turned a smile to him over her shoulder, waiting for Owen to step up on the landing and indicate that his room was to the left. 

‘I hope you don’t mind sharing. Might be a little suspicious if I sleep on the couch.’ 

Claire shrugged, ‘We’re adults.’ She told him matter of fact. ‘I’m sure we can survive two nights in the same bed.’ 

[…]

It was easier said than done to share his teenaged double bed, the both of them unaccustomed to sleeping with another in such close proximity, their bodies warm and breaths nearby. Claire tossed and turned while he snored lightly, barely disturbing her as she failed to find sleep or a comfortable position.

He grumbled in his sleep, the sound ruffling her hair as Owen’s thick arm reached out and bit into her flesh before dragging her body towards his. Claire froze, too scared to move as his body settled around hers. She waited a beat before trying to wriggle away, body moving in a desperate attempt to free herself. Owen’s arm slipped from her, his large hand settling on her hip and squeezing, ceasing her movements. ‘I swear to God, Claire, if you don’t stop fidgeting this is going to get really awkward. Just sleep.’ He gruffed at her, eyes still closed when she turned her head to catch his gaze. her cheeks flared, red hot heat climbing across her face as she willed herself to settle in his embrace, Owen’s arm anchored over her. 

When she woke, he wasn’t there, shower running down the hall as Claire sat bewildered on his side of the bed, hair a mess on her head as she stared at the wall willing sleep to lift from her. She woke on his side of the bed, still warm and smelling strongly of Owen, the man himself absent. Claire was going crazy. This was a bad idea. Only twelve hours in and she wanted to bail. He had kissed her on Main Street at the fall of Jurassic World, his mouth hot and demanding against hers. His hand was strong on the small of her back, pulling her to him, weighting her hips against his as his tongue flicked at her lips begging for entrance like their lives depended on it. He hadn’t touched her that way since, not with so much need or weight. The way he touched her, pulling her body into his as she failed to sleep, it was different but warmed her none the less, sending heat racing from top to bottom as her mind clicked into overdrive. 

In the doorway, Owen made a sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh as he stood there watching her. ‘Now there’s a sight I always wanted to see in this room. Pretty girl, messy hair, in my bed.’ He winked at her, his smile playful as she rolled her eyes and pulled herself out of his bed. 

‘Shower free?’ He nodded. It really was a dream to see that sight, more so that it was Claire in the bed of his adolescent years, still waking up from her dreams. Owen had missed what she wore to bed, the woman changing and slipping under the covers before he could see, flush on her cheeks and visibly put out when he cocked his head at her. She hadn’t been planning on sharing a bed and the warm weather left her unprepared. Free from the blankets, Owen caught sight of long smooth legs, uncovered due to the sleep shorts she was wearing. The baggy t-shirt was the cherry on top, The Sex Pistols printed across the chest. 

He couldn’t stop himself, Claire an inch from him as the smell of her shampoo drifted past his nose. He reached a hand out, grabbing her wrist and pulling Claire too him, Owen’s mouth landing on hers in a passionate kiss. ‘Sorry.’ He muttered, pulling away at her small squeak. ‘I thought I heard someone coming.’ His grin slid across his cheeks, Owen tearing his eyes from her face to check over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, pulling away from him with a sharp tug as Owen’s hand tried to linger on her. ‘No harm in practice.’ 

[…]

‘Oh, Claire.’ Carolyn sighed. It was becoming a common sound following her name, wistful and drenched in admiration. It was as though Carolyn held her heart in her hands, offering it for sacrifice. She was completely in awe of the young woman Owen had brought home, doting on her, leaving Claire incapable of lifting a finger. They adored her. Thought the sun rose and fell in accordance to Claire’s very wishes. It was strange for Claire to be adored. Her nephews acted this way towards Owen, hung on his every word. And although Claire had once held a much coveted position at Jurassic World, no one treated her kindly for it. 

James and Carolyn Grady were infatuated. Owen and women was not an idea they had previously been familiar with. Their second born was all sports, all military, all career minded. Claire was the first girl he had ever brought home; no matter the truth behind their _relationship_. 

‘You look beautiful, darling.’ Carolyn grinned from the living room, Claire taking pause on the stairs. She had disappeared an hour ago to get dressed, knocking about in the bathroom as she did her make-up and tried to tame her hair. It was Carolyn that made her stop, the woman’s announcement loud, drawing unwanted attention to Claire. But, it was the loose jawed expression on Owen’s face that caused her heart to skip a beat. 

Wickedly, she enjoyed it. He had been torturing her all day with his hand on her knee or her waist. He leant in to kiss her too many times to count, his lips lingering on her cheek or shoulder, one misguided kiss found her neck, setting Claire’s blood on fire. She couldn’t take it anymore. He was rubbing at her final nerves and wearing down a weak resolve he didn’t know existed. A perfectly innocent day with his parents left Claire fidgeting, her skin crawling with a mixture of need and impatience. All she could do was sit there and take it. 

She was burning hot under the collar, her skin constantly flushed and the simple task of sitting still was becoming increasingly difficult. Claire, for one, could not wait for the weekend to be over, to escape the close proximity she was sharing with Owen. 

They had a single kiss before this, caught in the moment, completely unplanned. Although, Claire wanted to argue — with the small romantic voice in her head — that they were always the best kind. Sweep you off your feet, in the heat of the moment kisses. Owen kissing her out of relief that she had saved his life on hectic Main Street was nothing more than a thankful reaction that he was still alive. She ignored all the signs that they shared sexual tension enough to fog the windows of her Isla Nublar office. At least, that was what Zara used to say — when she was still alive. 

His parents looked at them as if they _knew_ what Owen and Claire would be up to on their night shared in his tiny bedroom. Had they been a real couple, his parents might have been right. Instead, they slept uncomfortably, Claire tossing and turning until Owen had to hold her down to get his own rest. 

‘You two are going to be the envy of the school!’ Carolyn grinned, ushering Claire down from the stairs as she took her in again. Her outfit was nothing special, in fact, it border-lined boring. Almost _business_ rather than _formal_. She wore pants, wide leg in mustard yellow, flaring from her hip to her ankles. It almost reverted Claire right back to her tom-boy-esque roots simply for not being in a skirt. Secretly, she was thrilled in a girlish way that the trousers had pockets. 

Owen grinned at her, his expression dopey as she stepped towards him. He couldn’t believe his luck. They really were going to be the envy of the guests if she was intending to look like that all night. Owen offered his arm for Claire to take as she met him on level ground, the two of them intending to head right out the door. 

‘Wait, we have to get a picture!’ Carolyn hollered disappearing to find her camera before she posed them by the stairs. Owen groaned, words falling from his mouth that it wasn’t prom. ‘Not like I would know, Owen. Your date didn’t come here.’ His mother jeered in good humour, pulling a laugh out of Claire. It was in that moment she snapped the picture, Owen admiring the grin on his _girlfriend’s_ face as Claire laughed at Carolyn. 

‘C’mon, babe, we’re going to be late — and I know how you _hate_ being late.’ Fingers intwined with hers, Owen pulled Claire towards the door. 

[…]

She felt his anxiety in waves, rippling from his body as they climbed out of the car and faced the lot that housed his high school. It was surreal to be standing there, not that Claire knew it personally, but to be within the presence of adolescent memories. 

‘You’re nervous?’ She stated the obvious, stepping around the car to stand beside him. Her fingers twitched at her side, daring to reach over and grasp his. 

Owen shrugged, ‘I mean, these are the people who knew me as a chubby teen. I’ve tried avoiding all these people since we graduated. Only a little nervous.’ He didn’t want to admit that he was scared shitless but Owen understood that she already knew that. He wouldn’t have asked her to come if he wasn’t sure things would go smoothly. In fact, Owen invited Claire with the hopes that it would divert a little attention from himself. Claire, he could focus on directing eyes and ears to the woman beside him instead of an empty space. 

Owen Grady wasn’t one for attention and when he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it. 

Claire caved on her urge, taking his hand and squeezing it as she looked towards the school. ‘You’ve done so much since then.’ She promised, pulling on his hand as she stepped towards the lights of the gym. ‘Even if you show them half the man I know, they’ll think you’re wonderful.’ She grinned, teeth flashing as they stepped through the door, her hand squeezing his with tight reassurance. 

Owen held his breath as she pulled him through the gym foyer, stopping at a table with a smiling brunette, the woman squinting at him for a second before her face lit up, spreading into a wide smile. ‘Owen Grady!’ She beamed, face in a slight squint as she hoped she had guessed correctly. Owen nodded, swallowing thickly as the woman scribbled his name on a sticker and handed it over. He searched for hers reading it before smiling. _Rebecca_. His memory was faint on her, clouded with football practice and wrestling with his brothers for who got the car on the weekend. He remembered a Rebecca, softly, in the corners of all his thoughts, always smiling and cheering him on from a distance but never approached. ‘You were harder to tack down than I expected,’ she laughed, ‘I’m surprised you even got the invitation’. Her cheeks were pink, all eyes on Owen as she flicked her gaze over his face. He stared back, nerves twitching in his fingers as he struggled to break the contact. 

Claire cleared her throat. ‘Claire,’ she introduced, hand extended as she felt Owen’s arm wind around her back. Rebecca scribbled her name, just as she did for Owen, handing over the sticker and grinning at them widely. 

They stepped away together, Rebecca promising she would see them again before the night was over. She bid them a good time as Claire felt Owen’s fingers flex on her hip. The gym was dark, party lights on, recreating an illusion Claire recognised from prom. It was sweet blue light, filtering over faces, hiding age as the guests stood around in small groups, drinks in their hands, getting reacquainted. 

‘Okay,’ Claire stepped away from him, her hand still on his arm. ‘Game plan: we go get ourselves a drink and then _you_ find someone you recognise.’ Her smile was small, a little nervous and comforting all the same. 

Owen oozed confidence but the fact that he was nervous about interacting with a few people from his past seemed almost uncharacteristic. She followed him, letting the man take the lead towards the makeshift bar as she studied the twitch in his jaw and tense line across his shoulders. 

‘You and Rebecca seemed to be pretty close.’ Claire mused, arms resting on the bar as Owen ordered their drinks. She was going to lie if he asked if she was jealous. She was. Owen couldn’t stop looking at this other woman, her kind smile and the memories that seemed to flash in her eyes. Rebecca came across friendly enough but Claire was willing to defend what she felt was hers; pretend relationship or not. It was a silly feeling, being territorial of a man she had no claim to against a woman who lived _hours_ away. She was the one who had to sit in proximity of his warmth, share a bed in his family home and let the man touch her despite her whole body setting itself on fire whenever he did. A small payment for that would be enough in considering Owen was _hers_ — it would be even better if she stopped denying that she wanted something more from him than their regular jogs. 

He shuffled closer to her, fingers twisted to flick at the cuffs of his jacket. ‘Ah, yeah. I’m not too sure. I didn’t really talk to her in school.’ He offered, accepting their drinks when they arrived, handing one to Claire as their fingers touched, the both of them itching for it to happen again. 

‘Owen Grady, as I live and breathe!’ A voice sounded behind them, loud and distinctly male as a hand clapped down on Owen’s shoulder while his arm snaked around Claire protectively, pulling her into his ribs as he turned to greet the voice. ‘Long time, no see, buddy!’ The man continued talking as Claire felt Owen’s body relax, his grip on her loosening but not quite letting go. 

‘Daniel!’ He recognised the man immediately, launching into conversation without need of awkward small talk. There was a lot to catch up on when you didn’t have social media to fill the gaps, Owen refusing to give the internet that side of himself. She listened, used to being the one who was talking, as the two men discussed their youth revealing a teenaged Owen to Claire who was all about football but turned down a college scholarship. 

‘Why would you turn that down?’ She asked quietly, looking up at his face with wonder in her eyes. 

Owen shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to go to school. Not for sport. I wanted to be making a difference in the world, doing things with my hands _immediately._ Besides, if I didn’t join the Navy we would never have met.’ He squeezed her, smile on fire as his green eyes bore into hers. He looked at her like she was the only one in the room despite the fact that the space was starting to fill. She hummed, accepting his word as truth. If Owen didn’t join the Navy he would never have joined the Marines, he would never have experienced the things he had that lead him to Jurassic World. Without those crucial steps she would never have known him. Not personally. She never really thought of their lives like that. 

He leant down silently, kissing the side of her head as his lips lingered out of _want_ or _show_ the lines were indistinguishable. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if I never met you.’ He was still looking at her, talking to her, despite the fact that Daniel was still standing there watching them intensely. ‘Claire made me a better man.’ He turned his gaze away from her, returning it to Daniel as Claire stared at him. 

‘God, I wish my ex-husband still spoke about me like that.’ Another joined their small group, her name tag reading Jane. Claire was focused on Owen, noticing those growing around them, making faces at him as they recognised their former jock. His fingers were tight on her hip, her hands sliding into the back pocket of his pants and staying there as her champagne glass was replaced with water. 

‘No, really.’ Owen offered them, adults in disbelief. ‘I was a mess until I met her. She gave me focus, drive. I mean, most of it was to impress her — but I wanted to keep being better for Claire and in turn, when she finally let me. She helped me further. I wouldn’t usually be seen dead wearing this.’ He laughed, getting the small group to do so too as he pulled Claire into his chest in a half hug as she rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to lie if asked; but she had bullied him _only a little_ into wearing a suit that actually fit rather than the chino and button up combo he wanted to go with. They were the smartest dressed there, by the looks of it and Claire wasn’t remotely put off by that. 

‘I could say the same for you.’ She told him honestly. ‘You made me softer.’ Claire forgot for a moment that there were people around them, group growing bigger by the minute as eyes watched them with envy, some divorced, others married happily or not so. Owen spoke of Claire with such tenderness they all had forgotten what it felt like to be loved. Even she felt her frozen heart begin to thaw, warmth spreading through her blood like a warm drink in the pits of winter. 

‘How long have you two been married?’ Another voice asked, leaning against the body of their partner. 

Claire flashed her bare hand as she smiled shyly, Owen tugging her closer. ‘We’re not.’ 

Another voice hummed, ‘Ah, that’s what it is. You guys were at Jurassic World, right? They’re still living off the Honeymoon Period from risking their lives.’ Owen shrugged, showing off a slight smirk as he let the group assume what they wanted to. 

‘I mean, Claire singlehandedly holds up one of the biggest corporations in the world. Who wouldn’t be in love with a woman who could step on the throats of men but choses to show you mercy? I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.’ He grinned, turning the attention from _them_ to _her_ as a few men started asking questions about her work and Claire shot back facts and figures like he used to be able to play football. He was nothing in this room, a Marine who trained dolphins morphed man who _used_ to train Velociraptors. Had they been a year earlier on this event he would have been the _interesting_ one. But it was Claire, who brought Masrani Global back from the brink who deserved the attention in a room full of people who knew him but were not familiar with her. Besides, his favourite thing to do was listen to her. Admittedly, he never did a good job of it when they were on the island, often leaning into Barry and holding their own conversation. Since life as they knew it fell apart, Owen spent as much time as possible absorbing the sound of her voice and breaking down her opinions into dot points in his head. He couldn’t get enough of her even now, when he was spending more time with her than he ever had. Owen just never wanted to miss the opportunity where he didn’t know her thoughts, opinions, and general comments on the world. 

Mentally, he took a step back while physically standing beside her watching her command the group who asked personal and business questions Claire answering them and asking others back. He disappeared to get her another drink, finding her another glass of water as he found another beer. 

‘Oh, c’mon, Owen get the girl something with a little kick in it.’ A woman he didn’t recognise but had come to know was the wife of a class mate teased as he handed Claire her drink. She shook her head, telling the woman whose name tag read _Kate_ that she was happy with water. ‘Your doctor will attest; one glass of wine is perfectly okay.’ Kate offered as Claire stuttered trying to put her meaning together.

‘Hey, you love this song. Want to dance?’ Owen interjected, pulling on Claire’s arm as he moved for the dance floor. 

‘Owen did she just suggest that I was pregnant?’ Claire stuttered, following him as she put her glass down on a stray table before letting Owen sway her into an easy waltz. He shrugged at her, smile crooked and joyful as he bent to kiss her cheek. 

‘No use running around and correcting them. We’re already lying anyway.’ 

‘You really want people to think we’re expecting a child?’ 

‘Nothing wrong with that? Far more interesting than your diets.’ He teased, fondness sparking in his eyes. ‘Claire,’ he started, a little wistful. ‘I like you.’ 

She winced. ‘That’s _very_ high school.’ 

Owen rolled his eyes. ‘Okay. Sorry.’ She nodded, accepting the bemused apology. ‘Hey, Claire,’ he started again. 

‘Hey, Owen.’ She echoed. 

‘I don’t want this to be a lie.’ They swayed, moving to the music as Owen lead them around the floor ignoring all eyes and smiles and familiar waves. ‘I don’t want to go back to San Diego the way things were. I don’t want to lie about how much I _adore_ you, Claire. Because I do, so much and it kills me that I can’t say it to your face in fear of you pushing me away.’ His grip on her was soft, barely there, letting Claire know that she could pull away if she needed. He wasn’t going to hold her down. 

Claire sighed, fingers playing with the lapel of his jacket as she watched them move unable to look up into his green eyes. She laughed softly, the sound a little bitter as she stepped closer to him. ‘I have been waiting for you to make a move for a year.’ Her laugh bubbled a little louder. ‘Because you kissed me on Main Street and then _nothing_ I thought — I don’t know, that it was heat of the moment and I was the first warm body within reach.’ Claire felt his head drop to the top of hers, his forehead light against her hair as he sighed breath ruffling red strands. 

His hand found her chin, index finger lifting her face to his as he pulled away from her slightly. Claire blinked, feeling her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as Owen’s face drew closer to hers. He kissed her lightly at first, testing the waters before applying a little more force, Claire melting under his touch as she opened her mouth to him. 

‘I promise to never stop doing that, if you’ll let me.’

She bit her lip, nodding at him with acceptance, unable to find her voice. All in one Owen took her breath away and made her crumble to the ground, his hand on the small of her back was the only think keeping her upright, Claire sure she would fall apart if he let go. She laughed, sound bubbling up her throat, unable to hold it back as it drifted over them; Owen quirking his head at her. 

‘We are so dense.’ She told him, still giggling as Owen moved them back into their dance. He echoed her words as she had done to him. 

They were dense and stupid and absolutely ridiculous. He had wasted a year in her presence because he didn’t want to cross a line and she thought he wasn’t interested in her. Owen had never seen himself in someone else's life as long as he had been in Claire’s. That should have been sign enough for her that he was the real deal, looking for a life with her but unable to find the words. 


	174. #174 - Charlie and Daddy's Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grady's get a third baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were no prompts that inspired this fic other than a discussion I had with @mrsquill who begged I didn’t write it -- there’s no stopping me -- and acted like my beta when she knew I was going to do it anyway. 
> 
> This fic is certainly the longest in Despite the Odds and the longest C&E U fic sitting at 20.8k words. But, not my longest one shot. I worked my ass off. I cried a little. I really want you all to love this even though you will hate me. I promise to make the next fic nice and fluffy and maybe a little smutty. 
> 
> I do have a task for everyone who reads; can you please find something you liked; made you laugh/tear-up/whatever and let me know what it was! I have anon on, you don’t have to give me your identity but this was 40 pages and serval weeks of work. I really love it and have so many favourite little tidbits. I would love to know what yours are! 
> 
> I don’t really want to give it away but trigger warning; infant death. To all of you who said they wanted pain and suffering; I warned you.

He was surprised to come home and find his wife curled around their toddler, Elliot quietly tucked against her mother’s chest. It wasn’t like Claire to be in bed at four in the afternoon, her eyes squeezed shut, curled in the foetal position, arms slack around Elliot but still holding shape. Charlie was sitting beside her, book in her lap, and her pyjamas on. She looked as though she had been there for hours longer than her school timetable would have permitted. ‘Ma’s not feeling well.’ She told her father, voice quiet as she closed her book. 

She got up, relieving herself of her guard duty as Owen ruffled his hand through her hair. ‘Can you take your sister and get her a snack?’ Owen asked, creeping forward to untangle Elliot from Claire’s hold, his wife only grunting softly in her sleep as Elliot crawled free and accepted Owen’s kiss on her cheek. She was hesitant to leave the room, wide green eyes watching her mother, waiting for a command that it was okay. Owen encouraged her out of the room before he climbed on the bed, half lying next to his wife as his hand stroked down her arm. ‘Claire?’ He tried to coax her from her dream place, watching as Claire squeezed her eyes closed a little tighter. ‘C’mon babe, you won’t sleep tonight.’ He was worried, and not just for her sleeping pattern. Claire rarely came down with anything and if she did it followed a heavy battle put up by their daughters, the baton passing to their nurse of a mother. 

Her eyes cracked open, blinking blue orbs at him behind a grimace. She grunted at him, burying her face into the mattress as Owen stroked her hair. ‘What’s goin’ on? Charlie said you weren’t feeling well?’

Claire shook her head softly, hand rising to splay across her cheeks. Her stomach was in knots, Claire fighting the urge to chain herself to the toilet and vomit until she finally felt better. Her head was pounding, cold sweats settling across her skin as her eyesight danced in dizzying ways. She left work before lunch, picking up both her daughters on the way home, under the assumption that they were both as unwell as she. Never did Claire come down with a bug that her daughters didn’t have first. They were both fine when she bundled one into the car and then the other; happy for the early departure from school and daycare. 

‘I’ve found, if I lay really still I don’t feel the need to vomit anymore.’ Claire offered him a weak smile as Owen began to notice the strain across her shoulders, his wife’s body holding rigid in an attempt to not move too much. He sighed, a sad mournful sound as he lent forward to kiss her cheek. 

‘This really isn’t like you, Claire.’ He sighed, a sad mournful sound as he lent forward to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m going to go check on the girls, okay? I’ll raid the medicine cabinet for some relief — hopefully something in there will make you feel better.’ His hand carded through her hair as concern continued to burrow in the back of his mind. This _really_ wasn’t like her. 

‘I haven’t felt like this since I was pregnant with Charlie.’ She groaned at him, hoping to reach for some level of suffering he could relate to. Claire had a rough few months while pregnant with Charlie, constant nausea and headaches that crippled her on inconvenient days. He couldn’t ease the knot in his brow as he kissed her cheek a second time before pushing up onto his feet and leaving her side. 

Claire didn’t come down with anything out of the blue. It couldn’t be food poisoning, they all ate the same things and the girls were fine; Owen too. He couldn’t remember the last time either child had a serious sniffle, considering the idea that Claire might have been slow on the uptake of an illness. Even then, she never came down with anything as bad as what he or their children had experienced. Claire soldiered through everything but this had knocked her for six. 

[…]

The girls watched the house disappear into the distance as Owen bundled them in the car and headed down the road. Part of him considered dropping them with his mother and leaving it at that, letting the night sit between him and his sick wife. He decided against it, moving past his parents street as they headed for a chemist. 

Of course, the one time he was left in charge to keep someone in the house alive, the medicine tub was empty. Usually they had a whole container of pills and sachets, liquid cough medicine and back up throat lozenges. Small measuring cups and a small handful of medical syringes from the long gone cartons of baby Cold & Flu. There was nothing there for an upset stomach over the age of ten and although Owen was sure it _could_ work he wasn’t convinced.

‘Can we get a treat?’ Charlie asked, following her father into the store eagerly, eyes already scanning for the candy she could present to her father with her best _‘I’ve been good’_ bargain plea. Owen only had to turn his head to catch their excitement, even Elliot, toddling behind them refusing to let Owen carry her looked thrilled at the idea of a _treat_. He nodded, asking Charlie to keep an eye on her sister as he stepped towards the isle he needed. 

Owen really was hopeless at this kind of stuff. When sick, he just curled himself in a ball and let Claire take care of it. He was a practical man, one who knew how to fend for himself but one who never paid attention to the cardboard his medicine came in. He looked for her symptoms, primarily nausea knowing how much his wife hated it when her stomach churned. 

He settled on a box that seemed to promise what he needed, snatching a box of aspirin before he moved away following the sound of his giggling daughters. They were an isle over when Owen stopped, eyes catching on a collection of boxes. _First Response_. _ClearBlue._ All names familiar to him and the small stash his wife used to store under the vanity. They were long gone days after they brought Elliot home, semi-successful pregnancy and a healthy baby. Claire was convinced they wouldn’t need them anymore. He grabbed for one on a whim. Claire would kill him for the suggestion but every nerve in his body was singing with possibility. It made sense. 

‘Charlie.’ Owen felt his gut drop, eyes on his girls conversing, Charlie leaning over her little sister, their arms full of candy and toys. ‘I said _a_ treat not as much as you can carry.’ He knew haggling them down to an item each was going to take more than his mental will was capable of handling. 

‘Treat, Daddy!’ Elliot beamed, green eyes wide as his heart crumbled. 

‘One.’ He held up a large finger. ‘You can only pick one, Ellie-bellie, you too Charlie-Bear.’ Charlie was the one who pouted, frowning in deep lines at her father as the word _‘unfair’_ drifted from her mouth. ‘C’mon, you’re actin’ like I don’t buy you sugar all the time.’ He crouched in front of Elliot, putting his purchases on the floor as he pried chocolate bars and gimmicky toys out of her hands. ‘Hey, do you wanna go see Grandma tonight?’ He asked the littlest Grady knowing she was the one he would need to persuade. 

‘Is Mommy okay?’ Charlie asked, standing by his side with concern on her face, arms still full of her goodies.

Owen nodded, reaching out a hand to squeeze her arm. ‘Yeah, course she is, bug. Her tummy’s just feelin’ yuck.’ He promised with a smile. ‘Thought you’d wanna see Grandma while Ma’s bein’ no fun.’ Charlie nodded, smile small. ‘In that case; one candy, one toy.’ He looked from Charlie to Elliot, hoping the oldest would be able to make her decision on her own while he aided Elliot. 

‘Can we get Ma a treat?’ Charlie asked, mischievous grin slipping across her face. 

Charlie didn’t settle on anything for her mother until they were at the counter, sliding a ButterFinger over her head and pushing it alongside her father’s purchases. Owen didn’t have the heart to tell her that Claire would eat it but part of him knew that Charlie knew that. The girl would give it a few days then ask to have the uneaten candy for herself. He rolled his eyes, hand ruffling her red hair before he turned to the cashier. ‘And, ah, a box of rubbers.’ 

‘Bit late for that.’ The cashier joked, nodding to the home pregnancy test. 

Owen shrugged, Charlie at his hip asking why they needed erasers. ‘Those are for _if_ that is negative.’ He told the young man, laughing softly as he tore his eyes away to do his tenth check that Elliot was still holding onto the back of his knees and not just the phantom feel of her. Clearly, they hadn’t been safe enough but a pregnancy scare was enough to make Owen want to replenish his stock. 

[…]

‘I’ve had a wild idea.’ He told her, down on his knees as he leant on the edge of the bed, his face a few inches from Claire’s. She hummed with her eyes closed too weak to open them as her brow raised. He didn’t respond, leaving Claire to crack an eye open to glare at him. Instead, she was met with the box of a home pregnancy test. 

‘Owen. No.’ 

‘Think about it, babe.’ 

‘No,’ she shook her head weakly. ‘I’m not — Owen, don’t be ridiculous. We couldn’t conceive Elliot without medical assistance. We didn’t — I’m not — No.’ She pulled herself up weakly, trying to sit as she denied his suggestion. There was a hopeful look on his face, crushed at her rejection. It was no secret that Owen wanted a whole brood of kids running around the house and that, no matter how much they struggled to conceive Elliot, he wanted more. Claire was not willing to entertain the idea. 

Owen shrugged, ‘It was just a thought. You don’t have to take the test.’ She wasn’t going to take it, even if he forced her. Claire didn’t want that answer positive or negative she couldn’t withhold the pull in her gut. There was always a flicker of _hope_ when she saw those little boxes, something flaring within her wondering whether it was possible or not. They played that game for years before Elliot came along, finally quelling the need in her chest. It had settled, the want to expand their small family disappearing, leaving Claire with her daughters and a growing maternal instinct. It never left Owen, she saw it every time they took the girls to the park, newborns in strollers or on their mother’s hip. He hadn’t quite accepted the idea that Elliot was their last. 

‘Okay,’ his hand reached out to rub her leg with a warm touch. ‘Well, I called my mom. She’s going to come get the girls for the night. I don’t want to have to worry about them _and_ you.’ He had to pack them a bag, make sure Charlie had her school uniform and her homework and that Elliot had a change of clothes for daycare. He knew his mother could take care of the rest so long as he assured the girls had the essentials they needed from home. Elliot specifically; a night without her mother and her favourite _elephant_ was a disaster for everyone involved. ‘I’m going to get the girls organised and then I’m all yours, okay?’ 

Claire nodded slowly, still trying to find her balance with a foggy head and churning stomach. ‘Can you help me to the bathroom first?’ She asked softly, her husband noticing the pale hues of her skin slowly turning green. He nodded, willing to help his wife in any way as he waited for her movements with patient hands ready to guide her. ‘I’m fine, Owen.’ She snapped at him, sensing her husband’s concern as she shuffled across the floor, his arms bracketing her, keeping her upright. ‘It’s just a bug.’ 

Owen hummed, unconvinced as he watched her struggle to keep herself steady. She waved him away, telling the man to do what he had to with their daughters before bothering her any longer. Once lowered to the bathroom floor, submitting to the porcelain gods and her weak stomach, Claire found she couldn’t muster the strength to get up again. She remained where she was letting the cool tile of the bathroom soothe her until Owen managed to wander back upstairs and find her in her dismal state. He hated it just as much as she did; weak and incapable, dependant and unwilling. He had left the pregnancy test on the counter, baby blue box taunting her as Claire tried not to stare at it. She couldn’t look away.

She didn’t want him to be right. Every fibre of her being _begged_ for him to not be right but the smallest of voices in the back of her head reasoned that her husband wasn’t usually _wrong_ about anything. He wouldn’t have proposed this crazy idea if he didn’t think there was substance to it, he wouldn’t have shown her the test if he didn’t honestly believe she was _pregnant_. 

Claire used what little strength she had to pull herself from the floor. Snatching the box and tearing it open with numb fingers. She had felt this down before, years ago, shy of a decade when Charlie was growing in her belly, Owen’s soft words promising that she was going to the the best thing to happen in their lives. Claire wasn’t in a place to argue, her stomach swollen, her feet too, her head constantly trapped in the claws of a bitter depression and her body weak with the child that was trying to sustain itself within her. She was sick _all_ day _every_ day. There was no stopping the morning sickness that got its name in misguided humour. The aches in her back saw Owen watching her with pity, the two of them moving into the guest room to sleep when Claire finally couldn’t make it up the stairs. She wanted to claim that there was a portion of her pregnancy that was easy, blissful, everything promised of glowing women and excited expectation. Claire didn’t find it. Not with Charlie who, to the day, continued to fight her mother on every breath in her being. She had been sick with Elliot too, not as violently; the promised few months of agony before her baby took pity on her, providing a few months of ease before her early arrival. In fact, if Claire was being really honest with herself; the big indicator that their rounds of insemination finally stuck was how sick she got so suddenly. 

He was right. He was always _right_. Claire dared him to be smug about it, to take one look at her and grin the same cocky smile that won out so many arguments. She could barely bring herself to watch the small stick change colours, signs and symbols appearing in the small window, waiting for it to seal her fate. Two lines; pregnant. One line; not pregnant. Claire alternated between squeezing her eyes closed and staring at the small device, waiting for a fuzzy line to appear. She could hear Owen climbing the stairs, his heavy footfalls sounding through the floorboards as she forced herself to open her eyes. 

Two lines. _Pregnant_. 

The breath she was holding rushed out of her like a tidal wave, dragging a sob with it as Claire covered her hand with her mouth immediately trying to catch it. Owen appeared in a flash, the man almost falling through the doorway at the sound of his wife’s distress. 

Wordlessly, she flashed the small stick unable to produce anything but a cry as he dropped beside her and helped her up. Claire felt his lips on her temple, kissing her softly as he helped her back into bed. ‘The girls are going to come up to say goodnight, are you going to be able to pull it together?’ He asked her softly, hand in her hair knowing full well that if Claire was upset in front of either child they would refuse to budge until the problem was solved. He couldn’t have protective cubs fighting him for attention of their mother when he wanted to be just as fierce in his reassurances that the world wasn’t going to fall apart. Claire nodded softly, sniffling as she wiped at her cheeks. Her bottom lip wobbled, a slight tick as the emotion still coursed in her eyes, bubbling there as she bottled it up for the ten minutes it would take to kiss her daughter’s goodnight until the next day. 

If anything, Claire Dearing could pull her shit together. 

Charlie wasn’t convinced. She sat wearily on the end of her parents bed, watching her mother with cautious eyes as Elliot tried — once again — to physically attach herself to Claire permanently. She revelled in the comfort, cradling her daughter to her chest as she threaded her fingers through Elliot’s hair before trying to tidy the light pony-tail her near two-year-old was supporting. 

‘Are you okay?’ Charlie asked, crawling closer to her mother on all fours as Elliot began to sook, knowing her time was almost up before their father would take them away. She had eyes just as intense as her father’s, bright green and unwavering. At seven, Charlie watched her mother with the avid curiosity of a teen. Claire felt her bottom lip twitch and her walls crumble for a split second before she managed to pull them back up again. 

‘Right as rain, baby.’ She ran the pad of her thumb over Charlie’s cheek, giving the girl a small kiss before Owen announced that Nana was there. He removed Elliot it a fell-swoop, kissing his wife’s head and promising to be back in a minute as Charlie followed suit, all three of them awaiting the tantrum that was due to erupt from the youngest. 

Elliot only caused a small commotion, the sound there and gone again as Claire wished she could have seen them to the door, knowing that alone would have provided a small comfort. Already the girls had sensed this wasn’t a regular sleepover with Heather. 

She had pulled herself together well enough that by the time Owen had returned from clicking his daughter’s into their carseats and kissing their cheeks as he thanked his mother, Claire couldn’t muster a tear. There was a knot in her stomach that was twisting painfully, keeping the emotion stuck in her throat, unable to move. 

‘Tell me what’s going on in your head.’ He asked — demanded — voice soft as he perched himself on the end of the bed. Owen never coddled her when she had to come to terms with things, eight years together and he had learnt to let her breathe until she made a decision. 

She was still slightly green, her skin sweaty, her hands shaking but she was able to sit up without so much as a grimace and for that he was thankful. ‘Pregnancy doesn’t agree with me.’ She tried for a twitch of a smile, Owen grinning at her response, chuckle lifting from him. She wasn’t wrong. Pregnancy didn’t agree with her, it made her sick as a dog and insufferable because of it; moody and impatient. It wasn’t until she reached the six month mark, belly swollen with child, comfort found in maternity clothes that actually _fit_ that it started to look good on her. Skin tight dresses and his sweaters. She always opted for something without pants, hating the struggle they caused. Owen adored it, her health improving as her body finally agreed to stop causing her havoc due to it’s changes. 

‘I really don’t like this, Owen.’ She didn’t like being sick, she didn’t like being dependant on him no matter how many years they had supported each other. Claire didn’t like the fear that swelled alongside the child in her belly at the thought of what had happened the last time she was pregnant. They nearly lost Elliot after fighting so hard to conceive her. A little stress and being far from home was nearly the breaking point of their tiny little girl. She was fine now, healthy and perfect in every way but Claire wasn’t soon going to forget how scared she felt when her water broke three months early, alone in a hotel room in New York City while her husband and daughter were at home on the other side of the country. She certainly would never forget how it _terrified_ she was when her baby stopped breathing or the agony in her chest when NICU nurses said Elliot was too weak to be held. 

There was a reason why her one-and-a-half-year-old was still breastfed on occasion and that lay with Claire’s absolute fear of letting her go. 

‘You don’t have to do it.’ Her husband offered as if the idea of aborting this embryo inside of her wasn’t going to tear his heart out. He was supportive, first and foremost, putting Claire’s needs above his own and that of the girls’ even further.

Claire shook her head, red waves bouncing around her face as he already began to mourn the length. She always cut her hair off during or after her pregnancy. Had done so with both Charlie and Elliot, tendrils of her hair too thick for her comfort and the length getting in the way of infant fingers that liked to tug. He had grown accustomed to her long locks, watching them grow down her back as she asked him to braid her hair before bed, or brush it when she was too tired.

‘How is that fair? How can we be so dismissive? We _prayed_ to every God under the sun for Elliot. We drained every financial resource we had — you had to go back to the Navy for a year! We wanted her _so badly,_ Owen. Here’s a child we didn’t pray for or ask for, but something in the universe is granting them to us and we’re just going to throw it away like we’re ungrateful.’ Claire wasn’t religious nor spiritual, but she had that way about her when it concerned their children, happy to admit that Elliot was a medical miracle and Charlie was a chance upon the Gods to give them purpose no matter the hard yards they had to put in to make their lives perfect. This baby, was just as much of a miracle as their others, blossoming in her womb when it took so much to get Elliot to stick. 

He knew there was still a worry of miscarriage, Claire’s body prone to rejecting life when it settled within her. But there was hope in her eyes and a passion in her voice despite every fear she had. 

‘I want to do this. I want another baby.’ 

[…]

They didn’t tell anyone until Claire reached the twelve week mark, not the girls, not Karen, not Heather or Lorna. They wanted to be confident that this life wasn’t going anywhere before they so much as whispered about it beyond her doctor’s office.

Timing worked perfectly with Karen down to visit her grown sons, Owen and Claire organising a family dinner with everyone involved who deserved to know beyond a picturesque pregnancy announcement online. It wasn’t unusual to gather the group, dinners frequent between them that no one noticed the subtle nerves that bubbled between Owen and Claire. 

Claire felt it was the first time to get it _right._ When she was pregnant with Charlie they concealed it from Owen’s mom until Claire was six months pregnant, Karen found out on the phone and Claire hadn’t even met Owen’s siblings until after Charlie was born. Elliot they revealed at Christmas, sliding an envelope over the table to Karen and Heather quietly not causing a fuss. The surprise was easy to guess, they had all known Claire and Owen were _trying_ to have another baby with no luck. Claire still didn’t feel it was right that she couldn’t get the words out herself and that they were all perched on the edge waiting for the day she confirmed a positive test. She wanted to tell them, standing, Owen by her side, joy on her face everyone none the wiser.   
  
The girls had finished eating, Charlie and Elliot leaving the room to play while the adults talked over the table, still picking at their dinner plates. Despite helping Owen cook, Claire had barely touched her meal, pushing it around her plate. It was her mother-in-law who paid close attention to that, watching Claire and Owen closely as he stroked her back and leant into her ear a little more than usual. They were always close, Owen in need of semi constant contact and Claire; after eight years, was used to having his hands on her.

‘Oh my god —’ Heather caught the attention of the table her sliver ware set down against the table cloth as she started at her daughter-in-law watching the colour rise across Claire’s cheeks. ‘—You’re pregnant!’ 

Claire opened her mouth to protest, falling flat before trying again. When she found her voice it was to shush Heather. ‘We haven’t told the girls yet.’ She tried to keep their voices down, whole table looking at Claire as she panicked that her daughters might have heard. 

‘But you are?’ Karen asked, watching her sister intensely as her gaze slid to Owen for an answer. They both nodded, smiles creeping across their cheeks as Claire tried to contain hers to an acceptable amount of excitement. 

‘I’m due in August.’ 

‘And you haven’t told the girls?’ Lorna piped in from the opposite end of the table, looking up at Claire in disbelief. They didn’t know _how_ to tell the girls. Charlie had been less than impressed with the idea of a sibling when they told her of Elliot’s impending arrival and Elliot; well, Elliot was still breastfed and when Claire tried to discuss stopping a before bed feed the little girl wasn’t readily taking a bar of it. If she found out the real reason they wanted her to stop; Elliot would never let it go. 

Owen’s hand found Claire’s back, rubbing at his wife’s shoulders as he grinned, unable to keep his happiness at bay. ‘We’re waiting for the right time. We all know Charlie can be temperamental at times and Elliot is protective of Claire. We just want to prevent as many meltdowns as possible and ease them into the idea when they’re having a good day.’ They were worried that their house would suddenly be filled with two rioting little girls. Owen and Claire were happy to delay that as long as needed. Unfortunately, they still had a clock to work against. 

Their family agreed, happy to support them in their decision to delay the announcement to the children each person at the table vowing to keep a silence on the topic until the girls had been told by their _parents_. For now, the table buzzed, excited chatter jumping from one person to the next as Karen pulled herself from her chair to squeeze her sister. 

‘To think, Claire-I-Don’t-Want-Children-Dearing is now having her third.’ Karen teased, holding her sister tightly.

[…]

The girls were easier than expected. 

They were curled on the couch, girls on the floor in front of them, watching another Disney hit their daughters were obsessed with but not entirely keen on watching. Nevertheless, both Charlie and Elliot remained seated in their bean bags, blankets over their laps, eyes on the TV, hands in their bowls of popcorn.

It was Elliot who moved first, sleep creeping up on her like the ladybugs in the yard, peaceful and friendly. She always greeted sleep with arms open, but not until she had her ‘ _mommy cuddles_ ’ the code they used for bedtime — and occasional comfort — nursing. She was never entirely too polite about it, considering Claire as her property as the little girl pulled herself from her beanbag and climbed the couch, glaring at her father as she did so. Owen only poked his tongue out at Elliot, grinning to himself, happy to consider it a game of territory with the child who had consumed his wife’s attention for two years. Elliot seemed to forget that there was life before her and there would continue to be life after she grew out of her clingy personality. Owen would wait patiently until then. She kept eyes on her father as she curled in her mother’s lap, Claire shifting to accomodate the girl as Elliot, without warning, yanked at her top. 

‘Okay, that’s enough.’ Claire fought back, tugging at her shirt to sit it back where it belonged. She didn’t mean to be so abrupt, but was increasingly getting sick of Elliot physically demanding things of her. She was sore, her breasts tight and heavy less than impressed with her husband’s touch let alone that of her sleepy toddler. ‘Ellie, we can’t do special _cuddles_ anymore, okay?’ Claire started, trying for level headed as her toddler looked up at her with wide blue eyes. Even Charlie had turned her head to watch her mother, curious as to what had caused the commotion. 

Elliot’s bottom lip wobbled, small hand sliding fingers into her mouth as she sucked on them trying to soothe herself without crying despite the tears that were bubbling in her eyes. Owen turned the TV down, sensing the discussion that was about to happen as he called Charlie over, letting the girl sit in his lap. 

‘Yes?’ Ellie argued, reaching for her mother’s breast with a weak hand, eyes not quite focusing on anything. She knew not to fight her mother but had also had that comfort before bed for as long as she had been living in that house. 

Claire shook her head. ‘No.’ She didn't bother in swatting Elliot’s tired hands away knowing it would only add insult to injury and where her daughter had no manners regarding her mother's breasts, she still knew to listen to _no._ 'We need to talk to you girls.’ Claire looked from Elliot sitting on her knees to Charlie, her head on Owen's chest watching with tired curiosity. This wasn’t the best time, Claire knew, they were both tired and approaching the line of emotional but they were there now, words on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t stop them. ‘There’s going to be some changes coming really soon and I need to know that the both of you are responsible enough to handle them.’ Charlie nodded, happy to take on a challenge that could show off how _grown up_ she was. They only ever needed to throw around the words ‘ _big girl’_ for Charlie to jump into action. ‘Daddy and I need you —’ Claire looked to Charlie, smiling softly at her oldest wondering how on Earth eight years managed to pass them by so quickly. ‘— to make sure Elliot’s ready to be a big sister.’ Charlie’s brow crinkled for a second, her young mind trying to piece the puzzle together as her mother’s words sunk into her skin with the aid of her father’s hand rubbing circles across her back. 

‘Are we getting another baby?’ Charlie asked quietly as she sat up. 

Claire nodded, smiling wider at her daughter who hadn’t begun to yell or cry or kick up any kind of fuss. ‘Yeah, is that okay?’ She asked, seeking Charlie’s permission — not that it would help change the matter but if Charlie was okay with it, Claire wouldn’t be able to express the relief it would bring to their lives. The eldest nodded softly, small flutter of a smile so different from her downright disapproval when they told her about Elliot. 

‘Elliot’s not going to like not being the baby anymore.’ Charlie pointed out, sure that her little sister hadn’t quite understood what was going on. Claire turned her eyes to Elliot who was frowning, fingers of one hand still in her mouth as the others were curled around the scoop neck of her mother’s shirt. 

With all eyes on her, Elliot shook her head, fat tears in her eyes as she frowned, deep knot in the middle of her brow. ‘No.’ She told them, half muffled around her fingers. ‘No baby.’ She continued to shake her head lazily, eyes hooded with sleep. ‘Nah ah.’ She mumbled, shrugging away from Claire’s touch as her mother’s fingers moved to brush at her hair. Instead, Elliot moved for Owen crawling across the distance between their laps to wedge herself against his chest and Charlie. 

‘You can’t win ‘em all.’ Owen shrugged, kissing the top of Elliot’s head as Charlie pouted at her sister. 

Charlie, used to having a sibling now as opposed to the first time they had ever had this conversation with her, was much more interested. ‘Is it going to be another little sister?’ She asked with a slight pout, trying to peer around Elliot’s head. 

‘We don’t know yet, baby.’ Claire told her, reaching to tuck a stray strand of Charlie’s hair behind her ear. The girl let her. ‘Do you want to come with me when I find out in a few weeks?’ She knew it was crucial to let Charlie be involved in anything and Elliot too especially with a new baby but Charlie would understand the importance of a doctor’s office, and marvel in the technology of a sonogram. Elliot would only be disruptive. Charlie nodded eagerly, eyes wide with excitement. ‘We’ll make it a surprise for dad?’ Claire offered, meeting her husband’s eyes for confirmation knowing that he would want to know as soon as she did. 

[…]

Charlie was meticulous in the mall — a place Claire had never taken her before alone. Charlie wasn’t a shopper, she didn’t do patience, waiting and behaving well. When Claire wanted to shop, Charlie was left with Owen saving her mother the fuss of forcing the girl from store to store. 

She wasn’t going to lie if asked if she was nervous to take Charlie with her that morning. Claire was dreading it, knowing how ill tempered her daughter could be and how quickly she turned. She was, however, surprised when Charlie asked if they could go to the mall to buy the perfect gift to reveal the gender of her new sibling to her father. Claire nearly said no, brushing the girl off with another idea. She couldn’t think of anything better than Charlie’s proposal and knew, if they found the right gift it would make the moment all the more special. 

It took Charlie two-and-a-half hours to find the perfect item. Claire had to force her to stop and sit down for lunch just so she could rest her feet, exhausted from following the girl around. ‘Are you sure this is it, Charlie?’ Claire asked, eldest daughter holding up an item, declaring it was the one. ‘Should we get it gift wrapped?’ 

The young girl shook her head, ‘Daddy won’t care about the paper. He’ll just wanna know what’s inside.’ There was no use spending more money and time on something Owen would just rip open eagerly. The wrapping paper was going to be the least of his concerns. 

He was waiting for them when they got home, hovering in the foyer with excited impatience. ‘How’d it go?’ Owen asked, practically jumping on them as Claire rolled her eyes. Elliot came running from her place in the house, appearing from the living room as she barrelled for Claire. 

‘Charlie bought something for you.’ Claire offered her husband as she leant down to scoop Elliot into her arms, lifting the girl onto her hip, accentuating the easy bump that was forming under her skin. Owen lead them into the kitchen, Charlie almost skipping beside him as Claire peppered Elliot’s cheek with kisses her daughter acting like it had been _months_ since they last saw each other. 

Owen leant on the kitchen counter, watching Charlie closely as she climbed up onto the stool and put her brown bag down on the table. ‘Were you good for your mom today?’ He asked, leaning in slightly as he tried to catch her eye, Charlie nodding with confidence beyond her mischievous smile. Claire only echoed her answer, praising that Charlie had been _perfect_ at the doctor’s appointment and beyond. ‘Did you make sure that the doctor checked mommy was healthy just as much as the baby?’ He asked, practically hearing Claire roll her eyes behind him. Charlie nodded. ‘Good girl.’ He kissed the top of her head, grinning at her good behaviour despite the way his fingers were twitching in anticipation. 

‘You ready, Daddy?’ Charlie asked, small fingers flicking at the bag as she looked from her mother to her father. Claire kept her distance, standing a few steps away with Elliot on her hip, sitting on the swell of her stomach as she swayed, kissing her youngest daughter and rubbing her thumb over the girl’s small hand. Owen clapped his hands loudly, practically jumping off the ground as he promised Charlie he was more than ready. ‘Oh-kay.’ She pushed the bag towards him, clasping her hands against he counter as all eyes in the house were on Owen. 

He did just as Charlie expected, large hands pawing at the bag as he tried to contain his excitement but couldn’t manage. Like a large puppy still new to his feet Owen fumbled to grasp the item wrapped in brown paper — done so to prevent peeping eyes from ruining the surprise. ‘I love you.’ He turned to Claire, pulling away to kiss her cheek. ‘Just so you don’t think I’m sayin’ it because of the result.’ 

'Eight years, babe, we’ve got this.’ She muttered back, her hand squeezing his elbow as he pulled away. 

Owen sucked in a deep breath, the inhale audible as he turned to the parcel in his hands, fingers twitching. If he was being completely honest, Owen didn’t mind whether this third baby was a boy or a girl. Three daughters felt extreme but he knew, between himself and Claire that they could manage — and pass with flying colours. After Elliot, he just wanted an easy and healthy delivery for both Claire and the baby so his wife could hold their child in her arms immediately instead of having to sit and wait in agony. 

He pulled the paper open, letting it slip free from his hands to fall to the floorboards as Owen stood holding a baby sized football jersey. He recognised it immediately, the shining colours of his favourite team, a matching jersey in his size hanging in the closet. 

He looked up, dragging his eyes from the tiny shirt to his daughter and then his wife. 

‘Mama says there’s still time for Ellie, but I don’t like watchin’ football.’ Charlie’s words only solidified the assumption floating around in his head. 

‘A boy?’ He asked, eyes wide on Claire as his wife nodded slowly, smile creeping across her face.‘Oh, thank god.’ He almost lunged at her, stopping to slow his movements in order to not scare Elliot as he wrapped large arms around his wife and buried his face in her neck. 

Charlie’s gift had been just the thing, the little girl smart in her move. Where she had been the polar opposites of _female stereotyping_ the one thing _masculine_ Charlie couldn’t stand was watching football with her dad and grandpa. Owen had tried to take her to a game once, leaving at half time because Charlie wouldn’t stop crying at the sights and sounds frightening her small senses. Claire _had_ argued that Elliot might surprise him, joining him for a game when she grew out of her grudge holding phase still not letting him off the hook for leaving them fatherless for six months a year ago. Owen wasn’t convinced. If Charlie, who enjoyed partaking in _everything_ he did, didn’t enjoy it, there was no way Elliot would. 

‘A boy? Really?’ He kissed Claire’s neck, pulling away to look at her face with tear filled eyes. She nodded, squeaking when her husband lifted her off the ground, Elliot still on her hip. 

‘Owen, your pregnant wife doesn’t like it when her feet are off the ground.’ He put her down immediately, kissing her roughly as he dropped a kiss and an apology to the side of Elliot’s head before falling to his knees, both hands holding the sides of Claire’s growing stomach as he peppered it with kisses. Twisting her small body, Elliot tried to push at his head, her little foot on his face in an act of defiance and claim of her property. Owen chuckled, gently pushing her little limbs away as he continued his assault on Claire’s clothed belly. 

From her place at the counter, Charlie giggled, watching her father and mother interact with humour. ‘You’re so silly, daddy!’ Charlie continued to giggle, squeal lifting from her lungs when he turned to lift her off of the stool. 

‘Are you excited to have a brother?’ He asked her, spinning the girl around the room as he kissed her cheek. Charlie nodded happily, excitement growing in the grin on her face. 'A brother!’ He turned back to Claire, one arm holding Charlie while the other extended to the wide space of their home. He stepped towards her again, leaning in to kiss her with every ounce of his adrenaline filled emotions. The girls were on either side of them, Charlie giggling, Elliot still fighting for her mother’s personal space as his heart skipped a beat at what they had. Their functional family of four was ready to burst with an added member, a little boy to follow Owen and Charlie around at the zoo whilst being just as compassionate as Elliot and head strong as Claire. He was going to be the last piece of the puzzle, Owen could already see it, all the table settings put in places, his children’s happy laughter soon to be childhood memories as they grew and moved out, leaving the nest to form their own. 

Three kids. They were going to need a bigger house, more time and a lot more energy. 

[…]

In eight years, Owen hadn’t quite seen Charlie so attached to her mother. She followed Claire around like the answers to the universe were bound to leave her lips any second. Their eldest had been a little like that when Claire was pregnant with Elliot, following her mother around until she succumbed to a nap, Charlie right beside her, ready to curl up and snooze. It had been surprising at first, but quickly became the new normal for a few months until Elliot was born. 

It didn’t surprise him that Charlie was stuck to Claire like leaves to tree sap. But, it was odd. She doted on Claire, bringing her things and asking to participate. When the baby started kicking, Charlie wormed her way as tight as she could against her mother’s side to put her hands on her belly and sweetly persuade her baby brother to kick at her fingers. His touch wasn’t strong enough to be felt through Claire yet, they had promised the girl patience and she could eventually feel him. She wanted to _shop_ with Claire and take sick days at her mother’s office, she even returned to curling under Claire’s home desk to colour quietly. 

To Charlie, Owen had become second best. He wasn’t too sure how he was supposed to deal with that. He had been her number one person since day one and where he always pushed for Charlie to have a relationship with Claire he didn’t want to be sidelined in order for that to flourish. He did _love_ seeing them together, with Elliot in tow — usually frowning because she hated to share. In fact, he and Elliot had been spending more time together as a subsequent effect of Charlie wanting to spend time with her mom. 

Both girls were protective and intrigued, drawn in to their mother’s presence now that she was pregnant, fiercely growing their baby brother. 

Charlie wanted her mother to help with her homework, to play with her on weekends, to take them to the park, the mall, and her various playdates. Charlie wanted it to be Claire who drove her to school, or picked her up if the former couldn’t be done. Claire, mostly, tried to appease Charlie’s scheduling demands around Elliot’s possessive behaviour. Despite being jealous of her older sister wanting time with her prized possession, Charlie and Elliot were getting along far better than they _ever_ had. 

Owen had never really considered the idea that he had a gaggle of girls in his home. He was aware that seventy-five percent of his household was female but it had never felt that way. Charlie was not into anything along the lines of feminine, both he and Claire having to manipulate her into a _dress_ on their wedding day — which she only wore for a solid ten minutes before ruining it on purpose. Charlie was dirt and mud and sport — just not football — she was all for wearing blue and green and brown not pink and purples splashed with glitter. Elliot, who had very little vocal opinion in what she wore was left to her mother’s devices. The basics. Pink and purple on occasion in bright and fun patterns and colours but never anything that leaped at him from the ‘girls section’ in department stores. His girls were never _girly_ until now, giggling and gossiping curled in their mothers arms, talking about the baby and other related things. He gave them their space, for the first time in years feeling like the odd one out. Their son would change that, the boy destined to not want to join in on his sister’s gossiping, more interested in being out in the yard with his dad or tinkering in the garage with Charlie, talking shit instead of _high school boys_. 

He wouldn’t trade his daughters for anything, but now Owen was starting to see the benefit of having a son. Even if the girls did swoon over him for months before he got his fair share of father/son bonding in. 

For now, Owen was revelling in watching his daughters — specifically the eldest — adore their mother, both of them curled in her arms as they laughed, Charlie in tears on the couch as Claire rolled her eyes at their humour. He could still remember the day he promised over and over that keeping Charlie would be worth it, that he wasn’t leaving her side no matter what; even if she begged. He had spent years trying to get that thought to stick. It had paid off. 

‘Mommy had baby brain!’ Charlie giggled stuck in complete hysterics as she repeated a phrase she’d heard fall from her mother’s lips. Claire did, in fact, go through a bought of _baby brain_ that morning. Mixed with Charlie’s silence in the backseat, Claire managed to drive right by the school and not notice her daughter was in the car until she reached her office. Charlie, in all her good fortune, got to miss a day of class purely because her mother didn’t want to turn the car around and go back. 

Charlie thought it was hilarious when Owen asked about her day, admitting to the man beyond her mother’s secrets that she had spent an afternoon in Claire’s office before her mother smuggled her out for lunch and brought her home. ‘Don’t worry, Daddy, I still did my reader!’ Charlie admitted, promising her homework was complete — twice! While Claire barked orders over the phone or sent demanding emails, Charlie was limited to reading quietly to herself or colouring. Neither activity was known to entertain the girl for long. 

Claire ushered him forward with a finger, small smile on her face chasing away a slight wince as she bit down on the dried apricots that were always in her hand. He knew exactly what she was doing when her fingers coiled around his wrist and dragged his hand down to her belly. The baby was kicking. He felt it, weak but noticeable against his palm as he kissed his wife’s nose before flashing a wild grin at his daughters. 

‘Is he kicking?!’ Charlie piped up, excitement bursting from every crevice of her body. ‘Can you feel it?’ Her hands joined Owen’s, fingers trying to pry their way under his. She had been waiting impatiently for this moment ever since Claire first mentioned feeling the baby kick. Owen let her invade the space, lifting his hand lightly so she could cover the space, his fingers pressing down on hers. 

‘You gotta persuade him.’ He told her, adding that light pressure often invited the baby to kick back, trying to expel the protrusion from his space. ‘Elliot always needed a little persuading.’ He chuckled, locking eyes with his wife as she watched them, Elliot tucked under her arm. 

‘It was surprising at the time but seeing how little she was, she had too much space, no need to kick out for more.’ Claire smiled, turning to watch her littlest daughter as Elliot pouted at her father and sister. 

‘What about me?’ Charlie asked. ‘Did I kick lots?’ 

Owen and Claire nodded in unison. ‘You didn’t stop kicking. In fact, some nights your mom would sleep with her belly to my back and you’d kick me _all_ night.’ He told her, bobbing the girl on the nose as she giggled. 

‘You kicked when daddy stopped talking too.’ Claire added, rolling her eyes softly at the memory. She couldn’t catch a break. Charlie had _loved_ to hear her daddy, their bond kickstarted in her womb. Owen was always humming or talking about nothing in particular just to keep the baby settled. Thankfully this pregnancy hadn’t relied on his voice so much. 

‘He can hear us?’ Charlie asked with wide eyes, almost forgetting the things she had learnt in the duration of Elliot’s pregnancy. 

Owen nodded. ‘He sure can, he’ll even remember your voice after he’s born.’ Charlie didn’t waste any time in blabbering to her brother, quickly listing all the toys that were _hers_ and the very little she shared with Elliot. Claiming that she would wait and see before she decided what ones he could play with. Stuck on the couch under the weight of her daughters, and Owen’s hands sliding down the backs of her calves Claire had no choice but to sit there and listen. 

‘Do you want to tell your brother anything?’ Claire asked Elliot as Owen began a slow foot rub across her aching heels. 

‘My mommy!’ Elliot declared, wrapping her arms around Claire’s and holding on tight. They would take what they could get. At two-years-old, Elliot was already notorious for pushing her cousins or kids of family friends for so much as looking at Claire. Bringing a new baby into Elliot’s house, that was going to be a challenge. 

[…]

He woke easily in the middle of the night, Claire’s side of the bed empty as he felt her presence in the room. When he cracked an eye open he found his wife pacing at the end of their bed in short, tired strides, belly round, Elliot in her arms.She had rolled her head back, eyes towards the ceiling, face tense in the moonlight. 

‘You’re breaking _so_ many rules right now.’ Owen grunted, half chuckling in his sleepy voice as Claire’s head turned towards him. She was frowning, expression pinched as she looked at her husband in discomfort. It was rare that Claire slept through the night lately, pressure on her back or hips causing herself to pace around the house in the dark trying to relieve some tension. He didn’t think it would help that she had Elliot across her chest, precariously resting on the bump of their son. 

‘My boobs are killing me.’ She whimpered, explaining the use of their toddler and hoping the girl could assist in finding her mother some relief. ‘She was crying anyway.’ Claire offered, already sensing her husband’s skeptical look. 

He hummed, hands held up in defence. ‘Hey, you’re the one who made the _no more boob_ rule, you’re the one who can break it.’ Claire nodded, her hand rubbing at Elliot’s back as continued to pace. ‘Can you please sit down though, she’s really not that light.’ He didn’t want her to overdo it and carrying around Elliot’s sleepy weight while the girl nursed was going to cross that line of _too strenuous._

‘I can’t, my belly gets in the way.’ Her words came out on a slight whimper, pout deep on her face as her eyes watered. Claire was frustrated, tired, desperate to stop her back from aching, the now familiar slide of her hips from happening, and the hot throbbing in her breasts to stop. Despite having a easy pregnancy the third time round, Claire _hated_ being pregnant. 

‘Lay down?’ He offered, prepared for Claire to snap at him for trying to help with suggestions she had already considered but couldn’t do for _whatever_ reason. ‘C’mon, I’ll break the rule then.’ _No kids sleeping in the bed_. And by kids, they meant Elliot. He could see she hadn’t tried to nurse on her side because if she did, Elliot would fall asleep in a second flat and neither adult would be able to remove her. The rule was put in place only a few weeks ago, Claire sitting down with Elliot just after her second birthday. It was no coincidence that Claire found Elliot crying in her bedroom, not sleeping. She’d had her routine changed and even though they had tried to do so gently, the girl was feeling incredibly displaced. A pacifier was nowhere near as good of a soothing device as _cuddles_ and nursing with her mother had been. Claire was a little weak on that front, this wasn’t the first time she broke her rule since suggesting it with Elliot. Owen was preparing himself to not be surprised when his wife started tandem nursing once the baby arrived.

She gave in easily, legs tired as she moved for the bed, Owen telling her to lay with her back to him as she settled. He wasted no time in applying thick fingers to her sore muscles, pushing up her spine and back down again to spread across her hips. 

‘Do you ever think this is just too good to be true.’ Claire asked quietly, hand brushing through Elliot’s soft curls. Owen hummed, not sure what she had meant. ‘I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong.’ 

‘He’s healthy, Claire, we’ve seen that over and over again. The girls are _happy_. We’re happy, healthy, thriving. We’ll put him in Charlie’s room until we find a bigger house, or the girls can share. Nothing’s going to fall apart, don’t stress. I’m not going to let anything happen to any of you.’ He kissed her shoulder, hand on her hip squeezing softly trying to ease the fears that were surfacing for her. 

He could sense she wanted to say more, that something was weighing on her heavier than the strain their son was putting on her body. Claire didn’t add anything, only sighed, her breathing soft as she went back to watching Elliot at her breast, the little girl slack-jawed and half asleep. 

[…]

She went into labour three days before her due date, calling Owen from Charlie’s school parking lot after she had dropped the girl off. He had been calm at first, telling her they likely still had hours if she was only getting contractions now. When his wife claimed she’d been contracting all night and into the morning, Owen felt his heart stop. 

They spent _hours_ in the hospital. Their son was incessant in making an appearance but was also set in taking his time. Claire was in agony, her body refusing to cooperate despite her contractions being bare minutes apart. 

‘I _fucking_ hate you.’ She seethed, teeth clenched together as a contraction rolled through her, causing Claire’s whole body to clamp down, knuckles turning white as she gripped the rails of the bed. Owen only smiled at her, giving his wife a soft _‘I know’_ to appease the wrath she was feeling in her discomfort. ‘I can’t believe you made me do this again.’ He hummed, not giving her words, knowing that she didn’t actually want to have a discussion with him. Owen knew, too, that in a few hours, or minutes, when their son finally decided that he had enough of her womb; Claire would be overcome with love. 

‘You’re so brave, babe.’ He told her, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. 

Their son was born twelve hours after Claire had called Owen that morning. Their daughters were tucked in bed fast asleep under the watchful eye of their grandmother as Claire and Owen revelled in the exhausting quiet of a dark hospital room. 

He was right. He was _always_ right when it concerned the kids. Claire didn’t know where Owen found that magic but he had the ability to still all of her fears and remind her they would have moments of perfect bliss. He never mentioned anything about being in labour for days and in hospital, waiting for the baby to vacate her body, for half of one. He always left out the less than pleasant things. Regardless, Claire was always thankful for her hopeful husband and his loud dreams for their children. He was always by her side, always supportive, always happy to whisper little snippets of their future into her ear. 

‘I want to name him Max.’ Owen offered, curled in the chair next to Claire’s bed, newborn in his arms. Owen hadn’t let him go since the nurses had finished his check up, clearing the boy’s airways and documenting his height and weight. Claire had held him a total of twenty minutes, their first cuddle when the doctor put her fresh newborn on her chest while Owen cut the umbilical chord and another short hold when she was told to nurse him for the first time. She was in awe; of her baby and her husband but mostly the two of them together. There was something indescribable about Owen’s paternal instincts. The man was almost primal in the delivery room. Claire was addicted to the sight, mourning it as soon as their children moved beyond their newborn stage. 

They had a system, by now. A naming approach they took to both Charlie and Elliot that happened to stick the third time. Owen and Claire just weren’t the kind of people to sit around and discuss baby names. Charlie happened on a fluke, something classic and elegant born alongside the girl hours after her birth. They hadn’t discussed it previously and when they realised they were shortening her name to Charlie — the connection to Owen’s long gone Raptor’s was a complete coincidence. Elliot’s name found them, just as Charlie’s did, waiting until the girl was born and the first time her mother could hold her before it bubbled on Claire’s tongue and gave itself to the girl. 

‘Maxwell?’ Claire offered, bouncing off her husband’s idea. He shrugged, happy so long as he could use _Max_. ‘I like it.’ His wife gave him a soft smile, tired eyes still bright and blue despite the scratch in her voice and the strain still pink on her cheeks. 

‘The girls are going to _love_ him.’ Owen grinned, he could feel it. They were going to adore their brother the second they lay eyes on him. Already he was casual and laid-back, unbothered by the newfound attention he was receiving. Owen stood, moving towards his wife’s bed to kiss her softly, handing over her son. 

Claire was in complete awe of the infant, he was so much bigger than Elliot had been when the girl was born. He seemed _huge_ in comparison to her memories until Owen pointed out that _Max_ was only a few pounds heavier than Charlie had been. ‘You know we’re done now?’ Claire offered, eyes still on the baby, thumb rolling circles around his fingers. Owen was quiet. ‘No more kids, Owen.’ He didn’t say a word as Claire lifted the baby in her arms closer to her face so she could kiss his tiny nose. ‘I’m serious.’ He hummed. ‘I just, I don’t know — I don’t want you to take this moment for granted, okay?’ She was trying to take in every tiny detail of the boy, soaking up the good feeling that made her stomach clench with an immediate need for another. She was forty-two and with her husband two years older than she was, they were both closer to their fifties than their twenties. It was time to admit they were getting old and planning more kids would be reckless. 

She had felt the hope in him, when the test was positive, Owen realising they could still conceive naturally sparking a want for a whole baseball team of kids. If they had met sooner in their lives, if they hadn’t fought each other so much maybe she would have given him a whole brood without hesitating. Three kids would do Owen just fine, Claire knew it. 

‘Hey Claire,’ Owen was quiet in the room, watching his wife and his son as he pulled his eyes away from checking in with his mom. She echoed his words back. ‘It’s the 17th.’ He told her softly, waiting for her to realise what he meant. Claire only frowned, unsure if she had forgotten an important date. ‘The girls were born on the 17th. Ellie in April, Charlie in September.’ She hadn’t made the connection until he said it. ‘It’s the 17th of August.’ 

‘Well, that’s going to make paperwork easier.’ Her smile was off, eyes still on the newborn. 

‘You okay?’ He asked, just as he did after Charlie was born and again when it was Elliot’s turn. 

Claire nodded, hum soft on her lips as she gave him a smile. ‘Yeah.’ The concentrated lines of her face drew down into a frown. ‘Something just doesn’t feel right.’ Her overprotective husband tensed, already on the edge of his chair as he waited for her to pass out or break down. Claire shook her head, ‘I’m fine, _Max_ is fine. I’m just being silly.’ 

[…]

Heather brought the girls in the second visiting hours opened in the morning. Elliot was the first in the door, barrelling through as her grandmother warned her to move with caution. As soon as her eyes were set on her mother, there was no stopping Elliot, the girl scrambling to climb the hospital bed as she buried herself in her mother’s lap and began to whimper. Claire wrapped her arms around the girl immediately, calling Charlie forward as her oldest climbed the bed with ease and settled beside her mother, tucked under Claire’s arm. 

‘Oh, I missed my girls.’ Claire sighed, squeezing them both to her chest tightly as she kissed the top of their heads. It was evident that they had missed her too, Elliot crying and Charlie tucked close to her side. Their eldest hadn’t even acknowledged her father yet. 

Charlie whispered a soft _‘I missed you too’_ against her mother’s arm, breathing in the gentle smell of Claire’s perfume still lingering in the jumper she wore in the same way all her clothes were permeated in her signature vanilla scent. ‘Where’s my little brother?’ Charlie asked, pulling away to look up at Claire’s face before turning to her father. 

‘Right here.’ Owen told her, standing beside the hospital bassinet in a wide stance, his arms crossed over his chest. He was hyper protective of his newborn as his mother stayed out of the way, waiting for the girls to be introduced before she fawned over her grandson. ‘Do you want to meet him?’ Charlie was nodding eagerly, posture straightening as the girl stayed by her mother’s side. ‘Ellie? Do you want to meet your brother?’ He asked his now middle child, head tilted to catch her eyes as the little girl shook her head, still crying into her mother’s sweater as Claire tried he best to soothe the girl without giving her all of the attention. 

‘I swear, Claire, she was fine all night a little upset but slept through it. I don’t know where _this_ has come from.’ Heather apologised, offering her daughter-in-law a slight frown. She knew how much it affected Claire to see Elliot upset and that taking the girl home after this visit was going to be a nightmare for everyone. Claire shook her head, accepting the apology but telling Heather it was fine. They expected this.

Owen pulled Max from the bassinet, boy wrapped in a muslin blanket content and asleep. ‘Alright Charlie —’ He crossed the room, careful of how he was moving as he stopped at Claire’s bedside, ensuring he was beside his eldest. ‘— meet your brother, Max.’ His daughter was ready, arms in position like she had remembered from two years ago, watching the baby be lowed into her lap with complete awe. 

‘I love him!’ Charlie announced in a heartbeat, one hand under her brother while the other poked at his blankets. ‘Hi Max, I can’t wait to show you the tigers at Daddy’s zoo.’ Charlie offered, grinning as her finger gently stroked the curve of the newborn’s nose. Claire met her husband’s gaze over Charlie’s head, rolling her eyes at the idea. Owen had gotten away with smuggling Charlie to the zoo as a newborn, no way was he doing the same with their son. 

Elliot wasn’t as impressed, on the other side of her mother’s hips, the girl watched her sister and new brother wearily. Claire stroked her back, making sure her attention was on Charlie and Max but that Elliot wasn’t completely excluded. 

[…] 

Elliot wasn’t persuaded by Max’s charms. He fit into their lives easily, quiet and not fussy, he slept like his sisters had as babies, uninterrupted unless it was to nurse. They kept Elliot in daycare a few days a week, trying their best to leave her routine in tact while showing her she could still have time with her mother. 

Owen took Max’s first two weeks home off work, there to assist his wife and spend time with his family, ferrying Charlie to and from school and out again to activities as she longed to go home and cuddle her brother. He took Max three afternoons a week out of Claire’s hair to leave the woman with time for Charlie and Elliot individually. 

They were learning to juggle the girls. Charlie didn’t mind not having one-on-one time, instead insisting that she help with every aspect of Max’s life. It was Elliot who craved alone time, not only with Claire, but Owen too. He picked Ellie up from daycare when she was there, making sure to stop on their way home, often at the supermarket for diapers, but occasionally at a park or ice-cream parlour. 

At home, Elliot gave Max his space. She watched her mother curiously when Max was nursing, jealously creasing on the lines of her face as she turned down Claire’s offer to join them. She had become quieter since Max came home, keeping her distance but still remaining needy. Claire had quizzed Owen on Elliot’s behaviour, the both of them watching the girl closely, making sure she wasn’t acting out _towards_ Max or in an attempt to seek special attention. She was just quiet, reserved, happy to watch and have her turn when it came around. 

They were in the living room, Owen helping Charlie with her homework and Max on the floor mat only a few feet from them when Claire asked Elliot if she wanted to take a nap. The baby was happy and Owen was more than capable of watching over him while Claire snoozed. Elliot had been up all night the night before, refusing to sleep for a reason neither parent could determine. Her eyes had barely been open all day and where Claire was annoyed with the young girl for not sleeping she was willing to take pity on her tired child. 

Elliot nodded in agreement at her mother who stood in the archway hand extended for the girl. Neither adult knew what sparked it, but instead of going to her mother, Elliot walked over to where Max was lying, pacifier half hanging out of her mouth as she dropped to her hands and knees. He pulled her pacifier out of her mouth, running the teat of it across her brother’s lips in an attempt to share as Owen tried to tell the girl he was too little to take her _‘big-girl’_ _binky_. 

‘Max too?’ She asked her mother, turning wide blue eyes towards Claire as one of her hands found the top of his head, stroking it gently. 

Claire shook her head, ‘Just Mommy and Ellie’. Understanding, Elliot kissed the top of Max’s head before replacing her pacifier and getting up, leaving her parents to throw curious looks at each other. Never had Elliot done that, not in the three weeks since Max had come home.

[…]

Charlie was hands on, she wanted to carry Max everywhere, help with his diapers, and try to rock him to sleep. Eight weeks in and she was nowhere near sick of him. Owen felt the same, content to stare at his son for hours on end as the little boy stretched and mewled in his arms. 

Max was perfect, just as perfect as Charlie had been and Elliot too. There was something about he and Claire having babies that just made the world seem _right_. Nothing could surmount to how he felt about his children or how fiercely he would defend them. Nothing would ever describe the tightness in his chest whenever he saw them, the pride surging through his bloodstream making him lightheaded. 

‘Is Max’s nap over?’ Charlie asked as her father moved for the stairs. The baby monitor hadn’t gone off, the device now in Owen’s hand, the man confident it was time to rouse his son so Claire could feed him. He nodded at Charlie, accepting her offer of help as she stepped into line behind him. 

Something wasn’t right. 

The second floor was silent, still, more so than it usually was when all it contained was a sleeping baby and his daughters’ dormant toys. Owen’s gut clenched, ears attuned to the house as he listened to the floorboards shift and the walls whine. It was just him and Charlie, Claire and Elliot were out — due back any minute — but it was _too_ quiet. 

‘Time to wake up, Maxie.’ Charlie sang behind him, Owen stepping into his and Claire’s room where Max’s crib was set up. It was worse in there, hair on the back of Owen’s neck standing up as his gut continued to churn. 

Owen stopped Charlie from stepping forward, his hand clamping down on her shoulder. ‘Charlie, go back to the living room.’ He instructed, not looking at his eldest as he peered over the edge of the crib. Max was a wriggly baby, already, fascinated with twitching his fingers and toes and shuffling when placed on his back. He wasn’t going anywhere but that didn’t stop the boy from moving, even in his sleep. In his crib, Max was still. Charlie didn’t listen to her father, her shoulder pulling at his hand as she tried to step forward. ‘For fucks sake—‘ Owen snapped, tension building at the base of his neck as a protective instinct flared in his veins. ‘—Charlie, go downstairs.’ He pushed at her a little, irritation in his touch for her inability to not listen. 

Charlie broke away from him, turning and disappearing out of the room as Owen stepped closer. His wildest fears were jumping up his throat, a large hand reaching into the crib to sit on his son’s chest. Owen pulled back like he had been burned, body taking a large step backwards as his hands frantically searched his pockets for his phone. 

He had never dialled 911 so fast. 

Owen could barely find the words as he begged the dispatcher to help him. He hadn’t noticed his wife come home, didn’t even hear her on the stairs. Owen barely caught the end of her ‘ _Why is Charlie crying?’_ before he sensed her behind him, standing in the doorway, concern on her face. She took one look at the panic in his eyes and the tears trying not to fall across his ghostly skin. ‘What’s going on?’ She stepped into the room immediately, hurrying forward as Owen reached out to stop her, one hand wrapping around her middle as she pushed at his shoulder. 

‘Max is okay … he’s okay _…_ Claire, he’s _fine_.’ For the first time, neither of them believed his reassurances as Claire’s eyes landed on her son, a horrific sob ripping itself out of her throat. 

[…] 

His parents were in Australia until the New Year, Lorna at work and not picking up her cell, Karen lived in another state, they had no one to take the girls. It felt impersonal to knock on his neighbour’s door with screaming children, begging the couple who lived inside to hold the burden he had uncovered and keep his kids sane until it had been resolved. It was too much to ask anyone, family or strangers.

Elliot lost it the second she heard Claire fall apart, both girls standing in the hallway outside the master bedroom, watching their father try to hold their mother back. Charlie kept it together until the EMTs arrived, her young mind finally realising what was going on. By then, Claire was practically catatonic on the floor, Max in her arms, the woman breaking past her husband’s attempt to protect her as she rocked her smallest child. Owen was left to scoop up their daughters. He had not let go of them since.

A Medical Examiner arrived sometime later, his voice was soft, eyes filled with sorrow as he nodded to Owen and the girls in the living room before proceeding upstairs. Charlie howled like a dog to the moon, head buried in her father’s sweater as Elliot sat a hand on her head. 

They tried to revive Max for an hour before one of the EMTs stood back, admitting defeat, Medical Examiner stepping in. They couldn’t say for sure what had happened, either he simply stopped breathing in his sleep, too young to know he had to keep it up, or his heart gave out. No one could say without an autopsy. Claire outright refused. Max was too little. She didn’t want them to touch her son. She didn’t want them to _hurt_ him. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want it to be real. 

They had to take him away. 

Owen watched as they left, paramedics first, not meeting his eyes as the Medical Examiner followed, undeniable that his baby was in a body bag in the other man’s arms. There was nothing he could do, lap weighed down by the girls, his responsibility torn. Claire appeared seconds later, cheeks blotchy, eyes red. She was focused on the parade of medical professionals, blindly grabbing for her handbag as she moved for the door. 

‘Claire?’ Owen called out to her, catching his wife’s attention as she turned wide eyes on him and the girls. 

She didn’t hesitate in rushing over, kissing Charlie’s head and Elliot’s cheek before she pressed her forehead to Owen’s. ‘I have to go with Max.’ She told him, almost choking on his name, her hands on either side of Owen’s face as she felt Elliot’s fingers curl into the cuff of her sweater. ‘He can’t be alone.’ Owen nodded, accepting her words easily as some part of him moved to stand before he realised he couldn’t go with her. There was no one to take the girls and even if there had been, their emotional state was compromised enough that they were clinging to him with no sight of letting go. It would be irresponsible to leave them and yet he wanted to follow the Medical Examiner and beg the man, in whatever way he could, to undo the last two hours. 

Ellie let out a cry when her mother pulled away, the sound hollow and desperate as Claire grasped her daughters cheeks and kissed the top of her head again. She tore herself away, Elliot’s fingers ripping from her sweater as Owen secured a tight arm around her waist. 

What was he going to do? 

He felt his chest tear in two. Bloody and damaged he clung to the two life filled girls in his arms, one motionless, the other struggling, needing them as much as they needed him. 

He sat in wait for his wife to return home, _hoping_ she would. Claire Dearing called herself consistent, but the only thing that was consistent was her flighty nature. She had wanted to run since Charlie showed life in her belly and although eight years had passed them by he knew Claire was smart enough to take a way out if it showed itself to her. 

Charlie crashed, sleep claiming her like a rag doll after a fight. Elliot was happy to climb out of his arms by that point, letting her father take her sister to bed as she climbed into her own, eager to be tucked in despite the sun still being high in the sky. He drew their curtains closed individually, making their bedrooms dark as he tucked them in as tight as he could and kissed their foreheads, hoping the ache there would subdue itself with a little fatherly love. 

He sat in the hall between their closed over doors, waiting for the first one to cry out. Elliot didn’t remain in bed, waiting minutes before she climbed out, aware that it wasn’t time to sleep as she stepped into her father’s lap and pressed her forehead to his cheek. Elliot was an affectionate little girl, but not with her father. She had harboured a grudge since he left before her first birthday returning as a different man then shaving off the beard she had grown to recognise. Since Max came home, Elliot had been reaching for him more than she had her prized idol of a mother. He didn’t want that to change now that Max was _gone_ he wanted his little girls to remain his _little girls_ their innocent minds untampered with. Owen didn’t know how to protect them from this. 

If he could go back and start again from the moment he saw the positive sign on the pregnancy test, all Owen would change would be saving his son. He still wanted that boy like his heart wanted to beat. 

Claire came home as the sky began to set in tangerine light, the shadows in the hallway growing longer. She found him, her shoes still on, slipping them off in his line of sight before she crouched in front of him. 

She was calm. He couldn’t help but stare at her face, composure ironed across every inch of her porcelain skin. She had looked _gorgeous_ that morning, make-up on, hair played with, dressed for a leisure day with Elliot. It broke his heart again to see her make-up in streaks on her face from tears she had shed hours earlier, to know that she had a beautiful day turned dark and dismal because he waited too long to check on the baby. 

Owen hadn’t stopped asking himself what would have happened if he went in earlier, even just by ten minutes. 

Claire leant to the right just a little to peer into Elliot’s room where the girl was playing quietly. ‘They’re saying it was SIDS.’ She offered him, pressing her back against the wall, her shoulder to his shoulder. ‘There was nothing we could have done to prevent it.’ Owen wanted to shake his head, to tell her that he could have been _there_ he could have watched his son like a hawk. He had gotten lazy in his parenting with their third child, confident that they had managed to raise two healthy baby girls; a boy would be a walk in the park. He let his guard down and now he was paying for it. 

She slid her arm behind his back, small palm flat against the base of his spine as Claire began to rub small circles across his broad muscles. Owen snapped, bottom lip falling as his eyes squeezed close, sob pushing past his lips with a fight. He crumbled against her touch, body sliding against the floorboards until his head was in her lap. One hand rubbed his back while the other threaded through his hair, a soft shushing sound falling from her lips as Claire tried her best to soothe the man. 

They slept in the living room that night. Owen wanting to be close to his _girls_ but unwilling to force them all in the room that their brother _died_ in, crib still sitting in the corner, no one brave enough to move it. They set up the spare mattress on the floor, piled it with blankets and put on a movie that had a continuous happy theme. They were desperate not to trigger bleary eyed Charlie, the girlunable to keep her tears at bay for longer than thirty minutes. Claire attached herself to his ribs, curling around his side as she locked a leg with his. She knew better than to secure herself to the foundations of their sleep positions, her chest already aching, begging for relief that hadn’t come for hours. Elliot sensed her pain without her mother saying anything, Owen only watching her with concerned eyes. It broke her to see her husband so jaded and yet still so concerned about those around him. He wanted Charlie to be okay and Elliot to go back to normal, he didn’t want his wife to suffer with the loss of a child _and_ mastitis. Elliot asked for _cuddles_ despite having bunkered down on her father’s chest, cheek pressed to his heartbeat. It was their codeword, the little thing she said when she wanted her mother’s breast before bed — or in the middle of a playdate. 

Claire wanted to say no, to not _feel_ like a mother for an evening. But, she was a mother, new baby or not and she couldn’t deny Elliot her small comforts when they both so desperately needed it.

[…]

He woke to the sound of something fragile shattering against tile. Owen jumped into action immediately, adrenaline building as he unwrapped himself from a tangle of empty blankets. He didn’t fail to notice the space was void of his wife and children, the sound falling again from the kitchen. 

He followed it, catching sight of his wife in the morning light over the bench tops. That golden filter shifting over her pale skin and fiery hair as anguish painted itself across her face. Owen saw the look, registering it with the events of the previous day as a flash of red caught itself in his peripheral vision. It was Charlie, sitting on the stairs and watching him curiously. He held a flat palm to her, telling the girl silently, to stay. 

With his head turned, the shattering continued, snapping Owen’s neck towards his wife again. The woman hadn’t moved, dressed in his shirt and likely nothing else but underwear she looked like a statute basked in hues of light yellow. ‘Claire?’ He called out to her, approaching slowly as he saw her hand slip towards a plate on the bench, her fingers curling around the edge before she dragged it off. 

The plate broke on the floor, Claire flicking it with force. 

‘Babe, talk to me.’ Years of living with Claire and defusing her wild melt downs only taught Owen to approach her slowly. This wasn’t the usual look, never had she broken something before. 

She looked at him with hollow eyes, her expression blank as she stared. He could still read her, despite how little she was giving him. ‘I went to go get him.’ She told her husband quietly, grabbing another plate as she held it high above her head before throwing it down with a heavy force. 

He felt the same feeling she must have experienced shaking through her body, dread worming its way down his spine with the reminder that his son was dead. This time yesterday morning they had basked in the sunrise’s glow, all three children in the kitchen as Owen made breakfast, Claire feeding the newborn as she verbalised her plans with Elliot for the day. So much could change in twenty-four hours. 

‘I’m fine.’ She told him, frowning in deep lines. This was a different Claire, she wasn’t _depressed_ or _upset_ she was just _mad_ trying to put the pieces back together in her skull on how the universe could be so unfair. 

Owen hummed, ‘Smashing plates is your thing now?’ He asked, trying to get the smallest of smiles out of her. ‘C’mon, you’re scaring the girls.’ He tossed a smile to Charlie, not quiet feeling it but deciding it was necessary as he tried to defuse the situation. He turned his back for a second to fetch a pair of shoes before stepping around the bench and into the kitchen. Without a word, Owen lifted Claire off her feet, easily propping her on the bench, feet dangling away from the glass as he pecked her cheek. ‘What are we going to do for breakfast? After I clean all this up?’

‘You can’t pretend like it didn’t happen.’ She told him softly, looking him dead in the eye as a fire continued to rage in hers. 

‘I know, but, we need to keep moving.’ His definition was a little less literal. Instead, Owen cleaned up, made pancakes and dragged his girls back to their living room bed. He didn’t want to move from the comforts of the blankets and his family, holding them down as the girls faded in an d out of naps that would catch them unable to sleep when nightfall came. Owen couldn’t find the will to care as Claire ran her fingers through his hair, scratch his scalp as they let Netflix decide what they were going to watch.

[…]

It had always been strange to Claire, the way tragedy brought a family closer. Her mother died when she was eighteen, pulling old relatives out of the woodwork to hug the girls and give them their condolences. No one offered to _help._ They just looked at newlywed Karen with a baby on her hip and sighed at Claire, anxiously waiting her senior results. It had frustrated her to no end that they didn’t really _care._

Claire was the one who made the phone calls, reaching out for her sister and her in-laws telling them over the phone when she couldn’t say it to their faces. She didn’t know what she was doing or if it was the right way to go about it. She listened to their silence one call after another as her closest family members found themselves lost for words. 

Zach Mitchell was the first to show up on their doorstep offering a small smile and a promise to not ask questions. He played with the girls, pulling out boardgames and books, finding the Dearing-Grady home all too quite from his previous experiences. 

It was Claire who asked him quietly — while Owen was out — if Zach could dismantle the crib sitting empty in the master bedroom. It was a simple task, one Zach knew Owen would be capable of completing. He sensed it was more than that, Claire asking her nephew to do it instead of her husband. Neither adult had seemed alright, not that Zach expected it when he left his apartment that morning, knowing full well his aunt and uncle needed a distraction. He didn’t expect Owen to be quiet or reserved, the man hiding away in his garage sanctuary for most of the day before quietly telling Claire he had to pick something up. 

Zach worked quickly, pulling the crib apart as he tried not to think of his young cousin and what his family must be thinking. Even he wanted to cry, twenty-five-years-old and only having met the youngest Grady once. Zach wasn’t sure how the universe could be so cruel to people so nice. He had his qualms with his Aunt Claire in the past but she had long since made up for every misgiving he held. 

‘My brother’s gone.’ Charlie’s voice sounded beside him, young girl making her cousin jump. He hummed, unsure of what to say. They hadn’t said anything since he arrived about Max’s death, an unspoken rule lingering above their heads.

‘You can borrow my brother if you’d like?’ He offered, trying for a smile as Charlie’s face lit up at the suggestion of Gray. The youngest Mitchell was in New York, buried deep in the labs at Cornell, studying his genius heart out. Charlie adored Gray, as did Elliot, both girls unable to get enough of him when he was present. 

‘Will he watch football with daddy?’ Charlie asked, brow furrowed, unsure. 

‘Mm, probably not. I’d be better at that job.’ Charlie clapped his shoulder, face thoughtful as she announced that would be needed in her serious little girl voice. Someone needed to fulfil that job now that Max was gone. 

[…]

Owen ran, far and hard, leaving the house in his steady as his head begged to be outside of the small walls. His garage wasn’t helping, space to tinker still restrictive to every intrusive thought. He couldn’t keep Max out of his head there, every second was filled with the possibilities of his son joining him. 

Instead, he hit the pavement no end in mind until he helped himself through his sister’s front door. ‘What the _fuck_ did we ever do wrong?’ He found his sister in her small kitchen, his arms outstretched, frustration radiating off him in thick waves. 

‘Firstly,’ Lorna started, wiping at her red eyes as Owen pretended he hadn’t seen her crying. ‘Good morning. Secondly, do you really want me to answer that?’ She watched him shuffle on his feet. ‘You haven’t done anything, Owen, the universe is just shit sometimes. I was reading the other night that it’s something like .05% of babies die from SIDS a year.’ It was shit luck, she wanted to say over and over because there was nothing else Lorna felt she could add to the discussion. She wanted to help, to comfort, to assist but she was barely keeping herself together as it was. 

Owen helped himself to her home, moving into Lorna’s living room to flop on her couch and _breakdown_. 

Lorna stood there unsure what to do as she watched her brother sob, hard cries shifting in his chest as his shoulders shook. This wasn’t like Owen. Growing up, Lorna knew her brother was capable of touching on his emotions, mostly anger and joy, sadness was rare. She disappeared to fetch him a glass of water before returning, plopping herself down beside him quietly as she let Owen have his moment. 

It was the only place he could let it out. The only way he could feel like _himself._ At home, Owen felt like he couldn’t be _too_ upset cautious to stir up his wife or trigger his emotional daughters. He bottled it instead, saving it for smashing his hands against the steering wheel or slipping into a gym just so he could rage against a punching bag. Lorna’s place was safe. She was going to let him cry. 

Owen didn’t want to burden his wife. He had spent years catering to her emotions, controlling his fears and thoughts when Charlie was born, shoving his impatience and new father nerves into a box and letting them suffocate in order to nurture Claire’s recovery from her depression. When Elliot was born, his wife and daughter fragile, Owen kept his upset locked in his chest, not letting it out in fear of making things worse. He had to be the strong one. He had to sit beside Claire’s bed and confidently promise her everything was going to be alright. 

He felt there was no one to do that for him now, but his sister. Too many years pulling those moves for Claire he feared his wife wouldn’t know how to return the favour, sure her husband was just strong and unemotional other than breaking on the inside. 

Lorna let him stay and cry until he needed to go home, splashing water on his face and promising he could run back to the other side of the city without a hitch; he had made it there in the first place after all. 

[…]

Owen was too busy waiting for Claire to fall apart to notice he was dying inside. He _felt_ it, but didn’t recognise it as an issue as he tried to _see_ it in his wife. Claire was abnormally okay with everything. She didn’t smile anymore but neither had Charlie, the eldest Grady barely sleeping through a whole night and making it through a school day without getting into a fight. 

They were a mess. 

They held a quiet funeral, Claire at a loss for what else to do. Barely anyone was there, just their small family and the tiniest casket she had ever seen. Owen had witnessed men die for years, from the moment he enlisted to the end of Jurassic World he saw carnage lay waste to human lives. This was different. He didn’t think he could cope until Charlie asked if they could plant a tree, one in the yard and one at the local park. Owen put his focus on having that organised for her. 

Where he was once a man of multi-tasking the needs of his children and wife; Owen lost focus. He couldn’t juggle more than one thing at a time. While he was boring holes in the side of Claire’s pretty head, his wife doing the same to him when he wasn’t looking, they both managed to miss Charlie — the most emotional — slipping under their guarded fences.

There was a problem. She had punched a kid at school a week after the funeral. Swearing that the young boy had it coming but offering nothing else on the topic. Owen felt it wasn’t right to punish her, not when he could still read the anguish on her face. 

He was waiting for her, the school bell having run ten minutes ago as kids lingered at the edge of the gates waiting for last minute parents and behind schedule nannies. Charlie was always the first one out, eager to run into his arms and beg for an afternoon of fun. Owen continued to wait, arms crossed as he leant against the side of his truck wondering what on earth could have been taking her so long. 

Owen only moved once he had been waiting thirty minutes, almost storming to the administration office as he scanned the remaining kids looking for his hard-to-miss redhead. When he asked the girl at the desk to page for Charlie Grady, the woman only met him with sad eyes and a confused pout. 

‘Charlie wasn’t in class today.’ She told him with a slow blink. Owen shook his head. He dropped her off himself. He watched her pony tail bounce in the gates with his own two eyes. ‘I swear, Mr Grady, Charlie’s attendance wasn’t marked. Usually we call the parents before 10:30 to make sure absence is recorded properly but we assumed with — all things considered — that maybe you and Mrs Grady just _forgot_. No one wanted to bother you at home.’ On one hand, Owen respected their consideration, thankful for the thought as a nervous rage bubbled in his belly. 

He _had_ dropped Charlie off that morning. 

‘You’re telling me you don’t know where my daughter is?’ It was panic that overwhelmed him, the feeling climbing up his throat as dread washed over his brain. He didn’t know where Charlie was. Instantly, his thoughts went for the worst, picturing the girl grey and lifeless like her brother, lying behind the school gymnasium or on the street. He had wondered, briefly, if she was back at home, stone cold in her bed and it was delusion that had warped his head. 

He called Claire, demanding his wife check the house for the girl he was worried sick for and incredibly angry with. If she thought this was a game, she had another thing coming for her. She wasn’t home, Claire promised, Owen listening to his wife open doors and crawl on her hands and knees to check under furniture. It had always been Ellie who hid herself from him, desperate for a nap but unwilling to let her guard down when her mother wasn’t home. She was the one who squished under the coffee table, or rolled under the bed. This _wasn’t_ Charlie. 

Owen got back in his car, starting the engine with no set course. The school had sworn that Charlie hadn’t been seen that day not by her teachers or her peers. At a loss, Owen left, believing their words that she wasn’t there. 

He drove slowly through familiar streets, tracking his path from that morning before checking Charlie’s favourite park. He stopped at his parents house, using his key to get in as he searched the place, curious to see if Charlie had managed to hide herself there in their absence. Nothing. He was ready to give up, tears burning his eyes at worry made his gut churn. Owen almost didn’t answer the phone, too tired, not willing to explain to the person on the other end that he had lost two children in the span of four weeks. 

Owen was wracking his brains, trying to remember what she was wearing that morning, terrified that she would be too cold as winter started to set in, the early days of November bringing in a harsh wind. 

He answered the phone halfheartedly, barely holding the device to his ear. ‘Hey, um, I think you’re missing something.’ He had to strain to recognise the voice, heart jumping into his throat. ‘We just found Charlie hanging out back at Tango’s cage, she said she’s been here all day.’ It was Alice from the zoo, eager young zookeeper and occasional nanny when needed. 

A relieved sigh dropped from his lips, frustration curling around his device as Owen cursed himself for not thinking of the zoo. It wasn’t like he had been there much recently, desperate to get back to work but unable to commit to it. 

Owen sped. He broke several road rules and caught the flash of speed cameras too many times to count. He didn’t care. He needed Charlie, he needed to see her, to yell at her, to pull her into his arms and squeeze her tightly. 

He burst through the doors, somewhat careful not to disturb the giant beast or the girl who should have been waiting in fear for his arrival. ‘What the hell were you thinking, _Charlotte_?!’ He snapped, eyes on her, relief flooding his chest as anger filled his voice. ‘Why didn’t you go to school? How did you get here?’ He threw questions at her, trying to stand his ground as he watched the little redhead side towards the bars of Tango’s cage, an arm slipping through them to rest on the head of her endangered friend. ‘Get your hand out of that cage.’ He snapped again, meeting his daughters wide blue eyes. There was too much tension in the room, he wasn’t going to have Tango turn on them and bite Charlie’s arm in response to the anger. 

Charlie pulled her limb back into her chest, body still leaning on the bars as she started at him with wide eyes. He didn’t say anything, watching her with an intense feeling building in his stomach. He was _mad_ that she left the school grounds after he dropped her off but Owen was also _thankful_ that she was still breathing right in front of him. 

‘I wanted to see Tango.’ She offered him quietly, eyes drifting to the dirty floor. ‘You wouldn’t let me come see him.’ Charlie whimpered, frowning as she looked up through her lashes. Owen wanted to argue that she was wrong, that their routine had remained the same but the longer he thought about it the more he realised she had been right. With everything happening with Max, Owen was taking more and more time off despite Claire going back to work that week. He couldn’t remember the last time he took his daughter to the zoo to spend time with their favourite animal. Owen just didn’t want to face the pitiful looks of his employees

‘You can’t just leave school to come here Charlie, not on your own. How did you even get here?’ He asked a second time, still trying to balance a stern glare as his hearted continued to thud in his chest adrenaline chasing him harder than it used to when he was young. 

‘I got the bus.’ She told him, eyes downwards. 

Owen sighed, not entirely surprised as he crouched in front of his eldest child. ‘Charlie,’ he reached for her attention, hands hanging from his knees. ‘I need you to never look away from someone when you’re speaking. Have conviction that what you did might not have been right but you felt it was at the time. Don’t play coy, baby.’ His index finger tapped her cheek. Charlie was spitfire, unapologetic destruction caught in cocky behaviour. Her mother had been similar when they met and Claire would never have stepped down. Although he was angry, he needed Charlie to learn a few things. ‘I am _not_ happy with you. But, don’t you dare cower when you admit to what you did. You look me in the eye and say ‘ _Daddy, I got the bus’_.’ She nodded, accepting his instruction. ‘But, next time, Charlie, you don’t leave the school grounds after you’ve been dropped off. No one knew where you were. I thought something terrible had happened. Next time; you ask first.’ 

‘I did ask!’ Charlie curled her fist, shouting as she looked her father dead in the eye. ‘I asked and asked, and asked, and asked! You don’t listen to me anymore! All you care about is being sad about Max and he’s in the ground now! I don’t want to be sad no more!’ She was yelling, standing on her feet as stubborn tears bubbled in her eyes. Owen was sure he saw her foot stamp the ground as her whole body grew rigid with frustration. 

Owen was sure he wasn’t breathing, looking at her he realised how much he had missed. They had brushed so much aside under Max’s name, Owen’s concentration had frayed at the edges, the man unable to focus on those around him.

[…]

‘I don’t know how we’re going to salvage Christmas this year.’ Claire sighed, head in her hands as she sat across from her sister in a quiet cafe. It was November, the holiday season creeping up on them and the last thing Claire wanted to do was find _cheer._

Karen offered her a small smile, eyes drifting towards Elliot in the corner of the cafe playing at a small activity table. ‘You’ll find it, Claire. The girls need it.’ She reassured, promising quietly that Christmas would happen even if Karen had to pull it together for them; for the girls. She promised Claire that she wouldn’t hover until Christmas but there were already plans in motion to hang around between LA, where Zach was, and San Diego so she could be of sisterly aid when her family needed. 

‘I got my tubes tied yesterday, Owen doesn’t know.’ Claire told her sister, nonchalant as she sipped from her coffee mug. Karen didn’t know why her sister didn’t just get an IUD or start taking the pill. Condoms had been effective for Claire an Owen for years, minus Charlie and Max. God knows, those two went without contraceptives for two years and failed to conceive without assistance. ‘Max wasn’t planned and we allowed ourselves to get swept up in him, now look what’s happened.’ 

‘Don’t you dare imply you regret loving that boy, Claire. You were the one who made the final decision on keeping him, not Owen, not me, not Elliot or Charlie. It was your call. Something terrible happened in your household and I cannot begin to _imagine_ everything that’s going on in your head. But, don’t say you regret loving him.’ Karen was hard, she had always been that way, handing out the tough love Claire refused to acknowledge. 

She nodded softly, promising in a quiet and wavering voice that she didn’t _regret_ a single second they had with him. ‘I just don’t want it to happen again.’ Claire was too old for the ups and downs of live. She just wanted to settle down with her family and roll out the casual last decades she had watching her children grow whilst sitting comfortably in her stable job. Claire didn’t want anymore heartache and pain. She wanted happy little girls who blossomed into bright young women, not haunted by the ghost of a brother they had for two months. ‘I can barely _talk_ to Owen anymore. He just looks at me with these broken eyes; I don’t know what to say or how to make it better. The girls I can cuddle, I can kiss their cheeks and promise them that Max will one day be a faint memory they’ll cherish. But, Owen — he’s never going to let go of this.’ Claire sighed, tears brimming in her eyes. There had been a want in her chest to not talk about this with Karen. She wanted an afternoon where they didn’t acknowledge her life falling apart. But, since Karen had arrived to give a hand around the house before Max’s funeral, they barely had a chance to talk one-on-one. Claire needed her sister. ‘I think the only think that will save us is a _divorce_.’ Karen had never understood how her sister could be so indifferent about the dramatic things in her life. She always delivered big thoughts as if they were nothing, sliding them across the table as her tongue forced the words out, her mind having churned over them for hours, weeks or days. 

Karen scoffed, almost choking on her tea. ‘As a divorcee, I would like to say you take that word too lightly.’ It wasn’t the first time Claire had thrown a divorce into the ring. Karen could count on one hand how many times Claire had almost begged her husband for a divorce in the last four years, not to mention the times she asked him to leave her before they were married. Claire was a little unstable when her emotions were thick. Her mind couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time, blurring her vision and overcrowding her thoughts she pushed away the people closest to her in order to quieten the voices. ‘Think about the girls, Claire, they have enough on their plates right now as it is. Don’t add mom and dad getting divorced to it. You guys are _perfect_ , that man adores you, but if you throw a divorce at him right now, he’ll probably give it to you. You’ll regret it, Claire.’

Claire shook her head, teeth sinking into the inside of her cheek as she begged her next words not to leave her mouth. ‘I think it’s his fault.’ She couldn’t stop them, Karen frowning at her softly. ‘I think it’s his fault that Max died.’ 

Karen shook her head, silently begging her sister not to continue. ‘You don’t really think that.’ 

’He was supposed to be watching _my_ babies.’ 

‘Claire,’ Karen started, voice already rough. ‘He _loves_ those kids and I know he blames himself enough. This wasn’t anyone’s fault. Especially not _his._ It happened, okay, Max is gone there’s no use pointing fingers because Owen wasn’t in the room while the baby was sleeping. This was your _third_ kid, you’re both baby experts the universe just decided Max was needed elsewhere.’

Claire rolled her eyes, huffing as she tried to shake the emotion off her chest. ‘Really, mom’s lines?’ She rolled her eyes. Karen was full of their mother’s wisdom. Claire thought she would inherit it when Charlie started facing problems of her own but it had only been on rare occasions that she repeated words from her own childhood. It was definitely a Karen thing, the eldest sibling hanging onto their mother’s gems, trying to keep them alive while Claire wanted them behind her. 

‘They work.’ Karen offered softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Claire’s hand. Elliot returned to them, walking over with a curious expression as if she sensed her mother’s building distress. ‘You know what works better? Talking to your husband, maybe even getting some professional help.’ She watched Claire screw up her face, shaking her head as she lifted Elliot into her lap. ‘It’s okay to ask for help, little sis.’

[…]

‘We need to talk.’ Claire offered her husband, watching the man get ready for bed as her eyes drifted to the empty space in their bedroom that had occupied Max’s crib. Owen hummed, raising a brow at her in the mirror. She barely saw it from her distance but could assume he had done as much. ‘I love you.’ He stopped what he was doing, hastily spitting the tooth paste out of his mouth as Owen turned to give Claire his full attention. He was half expecting her to admit to an affair or pull divorce papers out from behind her back. She sounded so serious. ‘We’re falling apart, Owen and the worst part is, you don’t seem to be noticing.’ He blinked at her. ‘You’re having nightmares again.’ She told him like he didn’t know, like she knew he was trying to keep it from her. It had been years since Owen woke up in sweats, terrified of a war that had plagued his youth and his recruitment decisions when he wasn’t even old enough to drink. They came back after Jurassic World but withered away not long before Charlie made an appearance. They were back with a vengeance since Max. ’Charlie’s _physically_ fighting kids at school; she’s seven.’ He knew that. He knew it was an issue he just hadn’t sat down and tried to discipline her. ‘She ran away.’ He knew that too. ‘Elliot’s going to breastfeed until she’s in high school.’ He wanted to argue that was partly Claire’s fault, playfully, but didn’t want to bring up the subject knowing his humour wouldn’t pass. She was trying to tell him something else in that. ‘She’s been coming to work with me. I can’t leave her alone, Owen, or else she screams blue murder. The house is fine but God forbid she takes her eyes off me outside of home.’ He didn’t know that. ‘We lost Max.’ She stared at him, willing the man to blink. ‘I need you to acknowledge that we lost Max. You’re my foundation and if I don’t have you seeing straight we’re going to crumble into dust. I don’t want to go down that path. I don’t want to keep watching these girls break.’ 

‘I — Claire, I have?’ He frowned, brow furrowing as he stood in front of her in his pyjamas unsure what exactly she was looking for in his response. 

‘You haven’t.’ She shook her head. ‘You haven’t said the words. I haven’t heard you _once_ say your son died.’ She was one who made all the phone calls, she was the one who said it over and over until she was numb. 

He shook his head in return, ‘No. This is ridiculous, Claire.’ 

‘Say it.’ She pushed. ‘Why is it so hard to say he died?’ He turned his back on her, returning to the sick as Claire pulled herself from the bed, following him into the bathroom. ‘It’ll help, you know?’ She tried as she peered around his shoulder to look at his reflection in the mirror. ‘I _need_ you, babe. I _need_ you to get back on track because I can’t steer these girls off a destructive path without you.’ He went back to brushing his teeth, ignoring her. ‘Karen says we should see a therapist.’ Claire laughed at herself. ‘I actually think she’s right.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, trying her best not to touch him as she leant against the wall, sure to fill the space but not _invade_ his. 

Owen finished brushing, rinsing his mouth out before he moved to wipe his cheeks. Claire followed him out the door. ‘We don’t need a shrink.’ He offered her bluntly, pulling back the covers of the bed. 

‘I beg to differ.’ She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest again. 

Owen growled. ‘What do you want from me?!’ He snapped, throwing his arms up as he stared at her on the other side of the bed. 

‘I want you to _say_ _it._ ’ She challenged him like he had witnessed her do in board meetings and sponsor dinners. He watched Claire guilt men into what she wanted for special occasions, tricking them into new dinosaurs and lately; boring investments. She was pulling her moves on him, acting ruthless and he didn’t appreciate it. 

‘Why is it so important to you that I admit I failed? I swore to protect men in the field, Claire and I did my _fucking_ job. Do you know how unbelievable it is to leave that _shit_ behind me, to settle down, to start having kids and not be able to protect them? It’s _bullshit_.’ His voice rumbled, even though he was trying to keep it to a low hiss. The girls were in bed down the hall, their doors open, nightlight on. They were bound to hear anything if not, it all. ‘And here you are, _hounding_ me to _fucking_ say _my son died._ He’s dead, Claire! I’m sorry you went through all that _crap_ for nothing, I’m sorry you walked out that door to have a nice day and something in his tiny body decided to switch off. He’s dead. He died on _my_ watch. Max. Is. Dead. Happy?’ 

Claire stuttered, ‘I just need you to let it out.’ She promised it would be good for him, for them, for _Max’s memory_ if he could just say the things he was feeling and let her listen to it. How many nights had he listened to her ramble about how she wasn’t going to be good for Charlie? How many times had he consoled her? Claire, after four years of marriage and eight of raising children together, wanted to do the same for him. ‘You’re my rock. I need you to see what’s happening here … the girls need you.’ 

‘Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?’ He looked at her, still trying to process what she had told him. ‘Why didn’t you come to me?’ 

‘Charlie did! I was trying to protect you, you’re teetering on the edge of this Owen. You’re too focused on the fact that we lost _him_ but you need to turn back to what you still have. I can’t fix Charlie, I can’t take her to the zoo or help with physical conflict. Thats your territory. Elliot I can fix but I need your support to do that. I was just giving you space before I bombarded you. It’s been six weeks.’ One more week and he would been dead for as long as he had been alive outside of his mother. ‘We need to pick up and move on at some point. He’s not coming back.’ Owen only grunted at her, stubborn to his toes as he refused to acknowledge the issues rising in their home. ‘It’s okay to be upset, it’s okay to miss him.’ Claire climbed into bed, sitting amongst the covers as Owen did the same, his back to her. ‘I can’t stop thinking about how we’ll never see him walk or hear him talk, or know who he was bound to look like. Was he going to have my hair or yours? His eyes were turning green but I can’t be sure they would have stayed that way. I wanted to know if he was going to be a beach bum like Elliot, or glued to the zoo with you and Charlie. I really _wanted_ to watch you take him to a football game. When we found out I was pregnant and again when the doctor told Charlie and I it was a boy all I could think about was watching the _three_ kids grow up and seeing how they turned out as adults. I’m always going to wonder how and where Max would fit into the picture. Charlie and Elliot, they’re going to have a ghost following them for the rest of their lives because there is never going to be a minute where I stop thinking about _our_ son.’ 

She saw Owen’s shoulders twitch, something in his back shaking as his arm raised to touch his face.He was crying, the second time Claire had seen him do that since he found Max. She moved, easily climbing across the bed to wrap her arms around his chest, one over his shoulder the other under his arm as she squeezed him tightly. She kissed the stubble on his cheek easily, sighing against her husband’s skin. 

‘It hurts when I remember he’s not here anymore, it’s okay to feel the same.’ He kissed him again, dropping her forehead to the back of his shoulder as her arms tensed around his chest, hands clasped against his sternum. 

She felt his hand squeeze around hers, metallic touch of his wedding band cool on her warm skin. ‘I’ll go see someone.’ He promised quietly. 

‘I can go with you.’ She felt her husband shake his head, the man unlatching her fingers as he turned in her hold, moving to lie on his back in their bed. Claire adjusted accordingly, her head settling on his chest. 

‘I think I need to go by myself.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry this is happening.’ He tugged her closer to him, pulling his small wife into his side, feeling how easily her body fit to his. ‘I’m sorry I checked out. I didn’t mean too.’ He was starting to see how she might have felt in that period after Charlie’s birth. The dark days of his wife’s postnatal depression that clawed its way into their home and stayed for months. Maybe he was depressed too, maybe he had too much on his chest. Owen was long overdue to have his head shrunk by someone trying to weave every emotion out of his behaviours and thoughts to pinpoint why exactly his family fell apart after the death of their newborn. ‘Ellie will be fine, she’s as resilient as you are. And Charlie, we’ll get her back on track.’ 

She hummed softly, agreeing that his plan could work. Owen wasn’t wrong when it came to the kids. Claire trusted immediately, heavy heart settling in her chest, that everything would be alright. He had never let them down before even when laser pointer focus drifted from the family group to the graveyard. He always had their backs, or tried to and Claire could sense the deep guilt her husband felt for letting them drift. She, in turn, felt guilty for admitting to Karen that Max’s death was partly Owen’s fault. She was angry and sad, emotion sitting thick in her throat and clouding her thoughts. Claire would never say it aloud to her husband — she didn’t even mean it — but she knew in some odd way that he had already sensed how she felt. 

‘He was going to be just as wild as Charlie.’ Owen spoke, staring up at the ceiling as his hand ghosted along the side of her arm. ‘I mean, that’s all I dreamed for him. Happy to run, climb, jump and play. We were going to be overrun by rambunctious kids.’ 

Claire smiled, closing her eyes to envision the boy running alongside his big sister, creating havoc in their home or at the zoo. Charlie had already doted on him so lovingly there was no doubt Max would have grown to follow in his footsteps. ‘Charlie needs to see someone too.’ Claire admitted quietly, it was the only solution she had. Owen nodded. ‘Don’t underestimate those girls, they’re going to fill our lives completely.’

‘They already have.’ 

[…]

Claire wanted to wait until Spring. She _was_ the attempted gardener in the house, so they listened to her. Keeping impatience at bay until the weather began to warm above usual for San Diego, flowers coming out to play in their garden as Claire opted to spend more time outside with a wide brim hat. 

There was no ceremony to the day they chose or the way they bundled into the car and headed for the local garden nursery, seeking out a fledgling tree. Claire wanted something she could keep _alive_ , sturdy and by no means attention seeking. Her veggie garden was already hit and miss with baring produce, Claire wasn’t confident keeping a tree alive was in her skill set. 

The girls argued over which tree they liked, looking at the pictures on the tags or begging their father to google images of one fully grown. Charlie was intent on finding the perfect tree as she weaved in and out of the greenery up for purchase. There were already trees in their yard, big and strong, flourishing with leaves with great climbing frames, but this one was going to be different.

They needed something to remind them of Max. 

‘What about apricots?!’ Charlie hollered from the other end of the nursery, standing in shorts and a t-shirt. She wait for her family to catch up, adults stepping towards her as she beamed. ‘An apricot tree?’ She offered. ‘Max loved apricots when he was in Ma’s tummy.’ Owen looked to Claire and Claire looked to Owen, their eyes meeting, wide smiles crossing their faces. ‘When we eat apricots we can thank Max.’ 

‘I think that’s a beautiful idea, Charlie.’ Claire kissed the back of her daughter’s head before crouching to Elliot’s height. ‘What do you think, Ellie, an apricot tree for Max?’

The littlest Grady scrunched up her nose, almost three and still weary. ‘Yuck.’ She told them, watching the faces laugh around her. ‘I miss Max.’ Their laughter sobered for a second before Owen scooped her up, kissing her cheek and promising that they all did. Elliot wasn’t alone in her feelings. It had been a few weeks over a year since Claire tearfully showed him the positive home pregnancy test. Owen was already pinching himself that time had passed them so quickly. 

They had been doing better since October. Smiles filling the girls’ faces as laughter filled their home once again. Owen fulfilled his promise of seeing a therapist. His mood was lighter, laughter just as bright as that of the girl’s, playful personality back in place as he wrestled with them in the grass and on the living room floor; Claire joining in on occasion.

‘Can we attach a swing to it when it’s big?’ Charlie asked with pleading eyes. 

Owen shook his head. ‘Not this one, maybe another one in the yard or for the tree at the zoo?’ Along side the tree for their yard, Owen had tried to organise for one to be planted in the local park. The San Diego Zoo, his and Charlie’s home away from home, did one better. They spruced up their gardens, planted new trees and added a plaque to the bottom of an old oak; Charlie’s favourite, right in the picnic area near the tiger enclosure. 

_In loving memory of Maxwell Adrian Dearing-Grady._


	175. #175 - The Girl Next Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: We're roommates and I pretend to be your spouse to scare off your one night stands AU
> 
> and
> 
> cali-forniacationn: ‘I’m not jealous, but, like, come on, movie night is just for me and you only’
> 
> from: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/145494447129/friends-or-more-sentence-starters
> 
> and
> 
> ANON: sex with clothes half on
> 
> from: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/162741341825/tickatocka-some-fun-sex-tropes-laughing-during

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something lighter to follow Max's story to give you all a break!

****

Apartment living was similar to military barracks, apart from the fact that Owen had his own space. No bunks and no routine wake up unless he wanted it. He had been out for six months, comfortably trying to find his niche in the wide world of peaceful living away from wars and battlefields. 

He kept to himself, smiling at neighbours and holding open doors. It took two weeks for him to meet Claire Dearing. She worked corporate, pantsuits and pencil skirts, killer heels that clipped in the hallway and coffee brewing early enough to rouse him through the open window of his small balcony. That was where he met her, sitting in the early morning sun, thankful that he landed himself with the side of the building that caught the sunrise. Cup of coffee on the little table in front of him, bowl of porridge. a slice of peanut butter toast and the morning paper. He had intended to enjoy his Saturday morning when the red head from next door burst out onto her balcony. The door slid shut behind her, woman cursing at herself in an oversized shirt that left nothing of her legs to his imagination. 

Each apartment was fit with a small balcony only half a metre apart from the one next to it. No privacy was awarded from space to space, boasting a friendly environment where neighbours could get to know each other. Owen didn’t like the intimacy in lack of privacy but the walls were sound proof; so far as he knew, the space modest and the neighbours polite enough to keep to themselves. 

‘Rough morning,’ Owen joked, somewhat startled to see her standing there, eyes closed, hand on her chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, trailing up long legs, swallowing thickly at the shape of her thighs as she jumped, pulling herself away from the sound as she swore. ‘Sorry.’ He apologised for scaring her, eyes jumping to her face. 

‘Is’k, I didn’t see you.’ Her hand was clutching her chest, heart apparently racing as she smiled at him softly. Like staring into the sun, he couldn’t look away. ‘Owen, right?’ He nodded, assuming she got his name off the letterboxes in the lobby, knowing he had done the same for her. ‘What do you do when your date from last night is still here and you really don’t want them to be?’ 

Leaning back in his chair, Owen chuckled. ‘Easy, I don’t bring them to my apartment.’ He winked at her, whistling something about being a _rookie_ as Claire rolled her blue eyes and huffed. She stood there letting the sun warm her skin as she pouted, arms crossed over her chest and pulling at the fabric of her shirt designed as a night gown. ‘I could help.’ He offered, watching her fidget, internally fighting with herself over the awkward encounter that was to come. The guy couldn’t just _stay_ there sleeping in her bed until he felt like it. Claire had a weekend to enjoy and she didn’t particularly want him to join in. She couldn’t even remember his name. 

‘How so?’ she asked, stepping towards him as she raised an eyebrow under perfect bangs. It took five minutes for Owen to explain, Claire jumping at the strangers opportunity as she ducked inside and back out again to pass her neighbour the keys to her apartment. He promised to give her a few minutes, allowing Claire to get settled for full effect. 

Already dressed for the day, Owen brought his dishes in from the balcony before grabbing his duffle and shoving a few things into it for affect. He checked the time on his watch, three minutes passed since he watched Claire dash back into her apartment with the slightest glimpse of her grey briefs under the not-long-enough shirt. 

He took a deep breath, adjusting the bag over his shoulder as he left his apartment door unlocked, prepared to save a beautiful woman from an unwanted visitor. The lock on her door clicked smoothly, allowing Owen entrance as he tried not to be too loud and simultaneously too quiet. He had to act like this space was his. 

The layout was similar, simple open floorpan just reversed. Her kitchen was on the right of the entrance, his on the left. He moved for it, dropping her keys noisily on the counter, his duffle hitting the floor with an easy thud. It was just a prop, applying substance to his story and leaving no holes for argument; not that Owen thought his idea would fall through. 

‘Honey, I’m home!’ He called, keeping his voice in a singsong. The trick was to convince the other man that he really had come home surprisingly early to a girlfriend who had been unfaithful. Claire was all for it, only frowning slightly when she realised it put her in a bad light before shrugging; she had no intention to see this guy again. 

‘Oh shit, he’s home.’ He could hear her voice down the short hall, panicked as he imagined her shaking her unwanted guest awake, hair tumbling over her shoulders. 

‘Who?’ A groggy voice responded.

‘Claire-Bear?’ Owen called out, taking a long step towards the hall.

He wished he could see her, sure she was putting on the performance of her life, little actress in full show committing to every second of it. He must have been a terrible date if she was willing to sell it _that_ hard to get rid of him. ‘My husband.’ Owen grinned, he’d said boyfriend on the balcony and either Claire forgot or choice to amp it up a little. Regardless, he didn’t mind. What a lucky bastard to be her husband, unlucky that she was currently _cheating_ on him. 

The man in her bed swore, words falling from his mouth as Owen heard something thud — probably him — against the floor, belt rattling loudly as the man clambered for his clothes. Wanting to catch them, Owen moved down the hall similar to his own, turning to the right when he saw her sitting on the bed, legs crossed, chewing on her bottom lip.

‘Hey baby,’ he grinned, eyes on her as he let his chest relax large steps carrying him to her side immediately as he kissed her softly on the cheek. Claire tensed, arms raised to greet him one on the back of his head as the other squeezed his arm. ‘What’s wrong?’ He turned, following her line of sight as he caught the other man standing, still bent in half, shirt hanging from his hands, slacks loose on his hips, zipper gaping open. ‘What the hell, Claire? Who is _this_?’ Owen snapped, turning his head towards her in disbelief. 

Despite it all being a game to move this guy out of her apartment before 9:30am on a Saturday, Owen couldn’t help but feel a little rage bubble in his chest. Claire’s date opened his mouth, Owen’s body twitching towards his as his hands rolled into fists. The other man jumped, hastily sliding around the doorframe to break out into the hallway as he promised he wouldn’t have slept with her if he knew she had a husband. Like that would make it any better. Owen had to remind himself to breathe as he stalked after the man, telling himself this wasn’t Iraq, he was in his apartment building on American soil. This man wasn’t an enemy and he was just helping Claire with a task that didn’t need to turn violent. Her hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling on him weakly just for show as she begged him to let the other man go. He flinched at the contact, practically ripping his arm from her grip as he hissed at the intruder. 

‘You stay the _fuck_ away from my wife.’ He moved for the man again, finding mirth bubble in his chest when he tripped over Owen’s duffle before he made it to the door and scrambled beyond it. 

‘Do you want some breakfast? Coffee? I probably pulled you from yours for _that_.’ Claire sighed, stepping around him as her hand glided across his shoulder blade. Owen flinched, trying to bring himself back down to Earth as he focused his energy. He nodded in response, scratching out a request for coffee. He couldn’t just run out the door after helping her, she hadn’t even thanked him and if Owen was being honest he wanted to thank her for the adrenaline rush. ’You really know how to go Hulk, hey?’ She smiled, still in her oversized shirt as she stood in her kitchen. 

Owen shrugged, apologising if he’d scared her, faintly remembering her touch and being spooked by it. He didn’t know if the kiss was out of bounds, crossing a line they hadn’t set Owen just going for it in the moment really set on spooking the other guy. 

‘So, you only just moved here, right?’ She asked, pouring a large mug of coffee before she slid it across the counter turning her back as she asked if he wanted milk or sugar. He asked for milk just to watch her bend down to collect it, fabric of her shirt spreading over her ass, flashing her underwear at him once again. He felt guilty instantly, averting his eyes and forcing himself to drink coffee with milk and sugar as a punishment for perving on her. 

‘Yeah, two weeks ago. I was, ah, discharged, needed a place to stay. This ain’t ideal but it’ll work for now.’ She hummed, mentioning something about noticing when the apartment beside hers began to be occupied again, barely catching a glimpse of him in the lobby or on the stairs — there was an elevator, Claire just preferred to make herself climb to their eighth floor the hard way. Owen thought she would want him to go, she wanted her date out of her apartment to enjoy the day but the sun was stretching across the floor of her living space, tickling the backs of his legs as he sat at the counter listening to her talk. She didn’t ask why he was discharged or what part of the military he had served in, she just smiled softly, talking about the area and how the building wasn’t a right fit for her either. Claire wanted something with a little more class that showed her bank balance well and fit the demands of her growing importance. She _liked_ the apartment, the space was all she needed helping her continue a minimalist lifestyle due to how little space she actually had. Owen meant something different. He wanted a yard or acres of one, lots more space and on the ground not eight stories above it. It was better than barracks, he told her, promising to himself out loud once things had calmed he would find someplace to settle. 

‘I better get out of your hair.’ He told her, pushing away from the counter slightly as his eyes caught sight of the time. He’d been there three hours, Claire replacing his coffee with another and replacing that one with a glass of juice. ‘You were in such a rush to get rid of him, I’ve probably taken up all of your day.’

He couldn’t even remember what they had been talking about properly. Properties and work, dreams and lifestyles. Nonsense things that would come back to him in a week but for now ghosted over his head in the middle of a normal conversation. It had been so long since someone spoke to him like a human being. 

Claire shrugged. ‘I was just going to lie on the rug and soak up the sun.’ She told him with an embarrassed smile, stepping around the counter and moving for the plush rug she had on the floor. The thing look comfortable, white and fluffy, the sort of rug that was only owned by the overly clean who didn’t also happen to have pets. Or held the kind of bank account that could just throw it out and replace it when it started to turn into a mess. He raised a brow at her as she curled her toes in the rug, Claire admitting that was really all she had planned as she pointed to a book on the coffee table claiming she’d read in the warmth. 

She sat without hesitation before lying herself out, stretching her limbs long and wide as her body arched and curved in the warmth of the sun’s embrace. ‘You’re strange.’ He told her, listening as her laugh filled the room. She worked too much, was what she was, Claire admitting it freely her eyes on the ceiling. Her down time was simple and exactly that; down time where she let her brain _stop._ She was young and carefree, barely twenty-four, everything in her life set in place as she lounged on her living room floor. He was two years older than her and damaged by war, bitter already with too many ghosts to leave him without a care. 

Owen got up, bar stool squeaking on the floor as he moved to join her, sitting next to Claire’s shoulder as she grinned. ‘Try it.’ She reached out, tugging his hand as he laid down and tried to focus on the warmth of the sun’s rays. Claire admitted softly that she usually left the balcony door open, welcoming the breeze in as well. ‘Thank you for chasing that guy out this morning.’ She turned to him, eyes sincere and blue as she told him she had this odd kinship with him already. Claire felt she could trust Owen and she didn’t know why. 

‘Any time.’ He told her, promising to scare away any unwanted guests. Owen did suggest she just didn’t bring them to her apartment but Claire only laughed. 

[…]

Any time turned out to be one a fortnight almost to the second. Claire had a schedule and she liked to keep it, no matter the date. They were always on a Friday night and if there were some that weren’t, she hadn’t asked Owen to chase them away. She started texting him in advance, telling him as early as dinner that they had a potential idiot who wouldn’t get the concept of a one-night stand. Owen didn’t know how she managed to find them. Well, he did, she was beautiful and any guy would be an idiot not to follow her to her bed. He felt sorry for most of them, Claire using Owen to scare them out of the apartment building instead of shoving them out herself. 

He found it endearing that she didn’t like confrontation on her weekends; Claire’s explanation. When she spent all week fighting against men for funding or the simple right to do her job without being questioned because she was a woman. He would have loved to see their faces when they found out Claire was a serial one night stander, pulling men into her web and letting them loose because she wasn’t afraid to admit that she liked sex — a hell of a lot — but could not stand the idea of committing herself to another person for the hell of it. Even casual dating. All the men who wound up in her embrace were the sort to love and leave anyway, they just wanted the chance at a second booty call. 

On Saturday’s, after her victims were hastily driven out, Claire and Owen had breakfast. She mostly made the coffee, offering fruit or toast admitting she couldn’t cook their meals only changing when Owen stepped in front of her stove preparing eggs, bacon, pancakes; the lot. He read the paper, Claire did the cross word, both of them sharing anecdotes from their week between sips of coffee and mental breaks between articles and word challenges. In the beginning, they went their seperate ways until a few weeks became months; Owen and Claire syncing their schedules together to work their whole day around the other. They did laundry in the basement of the building to keep company before trekking to the gym or choosing a route to run. They either skipped lunch or they gorged on a big meal before returning back to their apartment building to argue over a movie and what to order for dinner. 

Saturday night was their movie night regardless of if she’d had a date that week or not. Owen was trying to educate her on some of his favourites, flashing all manner of Steven Spielberg films in her face as Claire rolled her eyes, offering her own favourite movies in comparison. They took turns, alternating each week. If he had to save her from an idiot who wouldn’t leave, he got to pick the film they watched. It was the least she could do to repay his services. 

Neither noticed how close they had become, finding themselves in a close friendship that left their doors open for the other — and their balconies. Claire was consistently comfortable with Owen, throwing her legs over his lap as they watched TV and leaving her bedroom door open when she went to change. He wouldn’t do anything to betray that trust. 

In the middle of summer his nightmares grew violent. The heat climbed up his spine and drenched his clothes, leaving the man sticky and impatient as bad dreams kept him from deep sleep. Unaware that he even had nightmares, Claire started to hear him, their balcony doors open to let in the _hopes_ of a cool breeze. She had gotten up to get a glass of water when she heard him shout, voice unmistakable and calling out for a friend. He sounded hurt, voice pained and desperate as he called out over and over almost screaming in agony. 

She didn’t waste any time, her heart jumping into her throat as worry climbed across her limbs. Claire knew his apartment door would be locked and where Owen had a spare for hers she didn’t have one for his. The exterior door was open a few feet between her balcony and his stopping her from reaching him. 

‘Owen?’ She called out, hoping he might hear her and stop. It didn’t help. Claire hesitated, only for a second before she squeezed her eyes shut and reached for the railing. She pulled herself over, stretching between the two before she threw her weight and climbed onto Owen’s balcony. 

He was tossing and turning in his bed, sweat rolling off him and soaking his sheets. In his sleep, he was frowning, groans falling from his lips as his arms flicked back and forth. She scrambled onto the bed, still calling his name hoping to reach him without scaring him further. With small hands on his shoulders, Claire tried to shake him awake, avoiding his thrashing limps as she called to him over. 

Owen’s eyes snapped open, body pulling away from hers instantly as he blinked at her unsure if it was Claire in his bed. ‘How? How did you get in here?’ He asked her, rubbing at his eyes as he panted. 

‘The balcony?’ She offered, shrugging as his eyes blew wide. Owen pulled her to him immediately calling her _stupid_ for doing that but thankful she hadn’t fallen to her death. Claire didn’t ask about the nightmare and Owen didn’t tell. She stayed with him, talking about nothing, their bodies sticky in the summer heat as his temperature drove her wild but his clinging hands wouldn’t let her go. 

[…]

Sometime after Claire being alerted to Owen’s nightmares and spending the night tucked against his chest, heavy arm holding her down, Claire stopped finding dates. She told him she just wasn’t interested anymore, feigning worry that her libido had dropped. She joked sex wasn’t interesting not adding that strangers were starting to bore her, they had always been missing something; a piece of her chest Claire felt like she had spend eternity looking for. 

‘Hey, I picked up a copy of Sixth Sense for next week. Ready to have your world rocked?’ Claire grinned, turning to him on the couch, her legs already in his lap Owen’s hand on her shin. Owen frowned, eyes not meeting hers as he shrugged. ‘You told me you haven’t seen it!’ She pouted, grumbling at him with actual irritation other than a faux pass at making him feel bad. Claire wasn’t wrong, he hadn’t seen it, her excitement still alight when she found out Owen didn’t know the twist.

‘I just, I have a date next Saturday night?’ He offered her a shrug, unsure of how to answer her disappointed look. Owen almost felt her stomach drop with her, the look was stencilled across her face so well as Claire tried to stop her jaw from dropping open. 

She shook her head. ‘Come on. It’s movie night, Owen.’ The dip in her brow was deep, Owen desperate to reach out and rub his thumb across the muscle there until she relaxed. If Claire knew how that would look when she was older, skin giving way a little more he was sure she would stop doing it. ‘I’m not — I’m not jealous.’ She told him, even when he didn’t imply it, sitting silently on the couch letting her say her piece without interruption. ‘But, like, movie night is just for me and you only. You can’t have a date.’ 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was a rule.’ They’d been doing this thing for roughly six months now, no rules, no formal agreement, no nothing that stuck him to her side. They weren’t a couple, just friends who shared movies on a Saturday. He didn’t think it would be an issue. If he did, he would have ran it by her first but there was no way Owen Grady was rescheduling a date because Claire was _pissed._

Claire pulled her legs from his lap slowly, hurt unmistakable in her eyes as she sat up and peeled herself from his couch. ‘I guess we’ll just save it for the week after. Unless your date is great.’ He laughed, telling her maybe, despite knowing that he shouldn’t have, the deep lines in Claire’s face setting harder as she excused herself feigning a big day and feeling a little rundown. 

He didn’t see Claire for the rest of the week, woman keeping herself scarce as she dashed between home and work, no longer waiting for him before she hit the gym. 

Owen didn’t even know why he was going on a date with this girl. His friends had set them up but as to why he said yes, he couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to go on a date, he didn’t want to meet people, he had Claire and a few regulars at the gym. He had friends from _before_ who were being as accepting as they could possibly be in the face of all his personal changes. Owen was there to be polite, listening to her talk about college and a _worldly_ experience from travelling abroad. He asked her if she wanted to come back to his apartment and she jumped at the opportunity immediately, giggling as they walked from the restaurant to his street. She was too sweet and too innocent he was bound to break her. 

He offered her a beer just so he could bury himself in the fridge for a second, fingers tapping out an SOS text to Claire as guilt threaded itself in his stomach. He couldn’t sleep with this girl, he didn’t want her. He didn’t want to break her heart in the morning with a reverse of his and Claire’s elaborate play. He didn’t want her to think there was a _chance_ this rugged NAVY man might want to settle down with her pure mind. She was making his head spin with her light giggles and colloquial language. He felt like they were worlds apart. 

_SOS_

_Door’s unlocked._

_I don’t want her here. I want you._

He hit send, swallowing hard as he smashed the cap of his bottle on the side of the bench downing half of it in one go. The girl watched him with wide brown eyes and an electric smile, tongue tracing the outlines of her mouth. Owen closed his eyes, begging Claire to move fast. 

It wasn’t even 10pm yet, she had to be awake, likely sitting around in her underwear watching some film he hadn’t even heard off, lightly grumbling to herself about how mad he made her. Nothing. His eyes were on his watch, impatience ticking at his fingers as five minutes passed, the girl frowning at him slightly as she played with the bottle he slid towards her. 

‘Hey, I just have to grab something. Bedroom’s down there.’ He pointed to the hall, unused to being forward as she grinned, nodding before turning her back. Owen barely waited for her to disappear into his room before he moved for the balcony, climbing between his and Claire’s easily before letting himself into her apartment. 

‘Oh, so when I do it, it’s not okay but it’s perfectly fine for you to climb the balustrade.’ Claire hissed not even surprised to see him standing in her living room. She was wrapped in a sky blue robe made of silk, tub of ice-cream in her hand with her legs curled up on the couch. Exactly like he expected, smirk climbing his cheeks. He knew her too well. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?’ She asked, rolling her eyes as she looked at him, shooting daggers with a glare. 

He shrugged, watching her movements as Claire got up moving for the kitchen to put her ice-cream away. ‘Yeah, she’s, ah, in my apartment.’ 

‘Owen!’ Claire shouted, disbelief wiping itself across her face as she dropped her spoon in the sink with a loud clank. 

‘What? Don’t you check your texts.’ He responded. She shoved her hand in the small pocket of her robe, pulling her phone out as she unlocked the device and read the message she had clearly missed. 

‘Oh.’ Claire’s voice dropped, hand falling slack as she pushed her phone onto the bench. Owen stalked towards her, steps purposeful, calculated. ‘Owen,’ she sighed, voice whining. ‘That poor girl is probably naked in your bed right now.’ She pouted, feeling slightly sorry for the other woman. 

Owen shrugged again. ‘I want you, not her.’ He repeated his text, catching the way her breath lodged in her throat, Claire’s pulse _just_ visible against her collarbone in the kitchen light. Claire didn’t scare him, she was resilient, built strong and determined to handle her own. She didn’t take his shit when he handed it to her, but supported him if need be. She wasn’t going to break like glass if she put her trust in him. ‘You can go in there later, pretend to be my wife and scare her away.’ His voice dropped to a whisper, their bodies close as he caged her in the corner of the kitchen. 

‘I’d like to hope she’ll take a hint soon.’ Claire breathed, eyes on his mouth as Owen stopped with an inch between them. 

‘What hint is that?’ His breath ghosted across her face, lips hovering just near enough she could feel his touch. 

‘You’re mine.’ She told him with a spark in her eye, ready for his next move as she pushed herself up on the counter. Owen’s large hands slid across her cheeks, cradling her face as he crashed a harsh kiss against her lips. She met him with ferocity, teeth clashing as their mouths fought for dominance. 

Owen’s hands trailed from her face to her thigh, squeezing the exposed flesh there finally under the grasp of his touch. He pushed at the hem of her robe, flicking the silk out of the way as his fingers found the lace of her underwear. She was exactly as he thought she was, moping in expensive lingerie. Owen felt proud of himself that his assumption had been correct, knowing Claire’s high taste and predictable behaviour. 

‘I _want_ to be yours.’ He tore his lips from hers, moving his mouth to bite down on her collarbone as his fingers slipped between the soft lace and her smooth skin. Her breath hitched against his ear, Owen grunting in response of her warmth, her teeth sinking into the shell of his ear as he felt a grin on her cheeks. 

Her fingers were swift against his belt buckle, pulling it apart with a swift tug as the ripper on his trousers released, leaving her hands free to shove them down his hips. He had forgotten, momentarily dumbstruck, at how lithe her fingers were, always so small in comparison to his as he handed over coffee mugs or pushed them to his chest for show in front of her unwanted guests. She tugged at her own underwear, huffing about him ruining the fabric as she shimmied on the edge of her kitchen counter, giggling at the cool touch of the stone. She whimpered when Owen pulled away, following the slight kick of her leg as she tossed her panties aside. Owen bent to kiss her thighs, scratching his stubble against her smooth flesh and pulling a new whimper from her. 

Owen dropped a kiss between the apex of her thighs, feeling the strength of her legs clamp down on his head briefly before he pulled away, kissing her lips with a wicked grin. Claire shrugged her robe off her shoulders, feeling the light blue silk glide against her skin as it pooled at her elbows, her hands gripping his arms. He dropped his head to her chest, kissing her chest with small peppers of his lips. He didn’t _bite_ until he pushed into her, sliding forward in a fluid motion. Claire gasped, her cheek pressed to the top of his head as she grinned, fingers sliding into his hair at the sound of his grunt, the feel of it vibrating against her breast as his teeth sunk down.

It took nothing to stop thinking about the woman in his apartment, surely sitting there confused wondering where Owen had gone to with his keys still on the counter and front door locked. He rocked into her at a fast pace, leaving nothing to time despite having it all. Claire couldn’t complain, meeting his thrusts with soft sighs, legs wrapping around his waist as her hands scratched up his back, tugging at the button down shirt he wore. She wanted it off, to feel his skin under her fingers but didn’t have the thought of mind to try to pry it from his body. Her mind was lost, heart in her throat as she focused on the feel of his rough hands one on her ass the other squeezing her breast through the lace of her bra. 

He was rushed, acting on a need that had been building for months buried under a deep respect he had for her, desperate not to ruin things between them. It wasn’t until jealousy flashed in her eyes, hurt pressing deep lines in her face that he realised Claire wanted something more. He hadn’t been confident until he saw a flash of her grin the second he stepped into the small apartment. 

It was hot and fast, fingers grasping for purchase against the other’s clothing, trying to hold on as hekept up a fast pace knowing there was no way he would last very long. It didn’t seem to matter, Claire moaning against his ear, breathy little sighs falling from her lips as she failed at keeping her breath in. 

She was purring his name in no time, Owen barely able to keep himself together his head buried against her neck as her snap nails squeezed at his asscheeks. She was giggling in his ear, the sound almost off putting if he wasn’t already tipping over the edge, revelling in the feel of her body against his, her mirth vibrating between them. Claire stopped him when she tried to pull away, ‘IUD’ was muttered between them, Claire ensuring it was safe as she locked her grip on Owen. He didn’t need to be told twice before her lips were swallowing his final groan. 

‘If you ever do _that_ with another woman behind my bad. I’ll be very angry, Mr Grady.’ Owen quirked a brow. She frowned softly repeating that she felt sorry for the other woman in the apartment next door. 

Owen shook his head. ‘Never, I’m committed to right here.’ He poked her shoulder, grinning as she rolled her eyes. ‘I thought you weren’t even interested.’ 

Her laugh was pure, angelic and carefree as she tilted her neck back skin pink and promising to mark in a few places. ‘ _No,_ I thought you weren’t interested in _me.’_ He kissed her just for their dumb luck, leaning into her embrace as he sighed. 

‘You think she’s gone yet?’ 

‘Why do you wanna leave my side so soon?’ Claire teased feigning a pout as something danced in her eyes, Owen recognising it to be a flash of hurt. She was joking but there was rejection lurking in her tone, not yet ready for him to up and leave her. Claire grinned, thoughts changing as she practically jumped off the counter. ‘I still have Sixth Sense.’ She promised, eyes wide, teeth in her bottom lip, her bra almost sitting crooked on her flushed chest as a nipple poked out of one cup while the other remained contained. She looked like a mess, a hot mess completely dishevelled her eyes still a little glassy. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, to spend the rest of the night worshiping her body in a space they only _pretended_ was his. 

‘I can do you one better.’ He promised, grin creeping across his stubbly cheeks as he winked at her. 


	176. #176 - Charlie and Her Brother's Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An adult Charlie comes home to face some reminders of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had a bit of writer's block and couldn’t find the words for anything. This was a part of Charlie and Daddy’s Boy but I never wrote it because I didn’t want to tack a massive time jump like this onto the end of that story. But, it was the only words I could find in the past couple weeks and with my 2 year anniversary for clawen coming up on the 9th I felt like I had to post something. 
> 
> I’ll be pretty busy all week -- and probably for the next few weeks. I am still trying to find my rhythm from last trimester at Uni. Can’t seem to catch it. 
> 
> This prompt is kinda long and set when Charlie is 27. So, I know a lot of you won’t be 100% into reading this but I enjoyed seeing these girls at an older age -- and Ellie’s babies. So, I hope you will too.

Despite her stance on procreation Charlie Grady couldn’t help but adore the feeling of a baby in her arms. She was too close to her thirties and adamant that her life wasn’t slipping out from under her feet. Too many years passed as her sister graduated college, married the man of her dreams and added another two children to their pre-existing family of three. Elliot progressed in the game of life while Charlie continued to wielded guns in Indonesia. She only came home for family; if it was forced. 

At an early age, Charlie’s parents instilled a deep respect for family life that was to be treasured above all else. No matter what was happening, they were there for one another. She broke that cardinal rule by being in another country moving from Indonesia to China and back again when her cause changed. 

She was late to a party that happened six-months ago.

Charlie couldn’t put her finger on why she was nervous. Her hands twitched, fingers jumping as she reached into her bag for a cigarette. This was her family home, the place her parents raised her full of heartbreak and joy, memories almost spilling out of the roof. She lingered on the porch, lighting her cigarette and leaning on the banister as she tried to breathe. It had been a year — longer — since she had last come home, running away from responsibility and trying her best to not look back. 

She’d missed the birth of her nephew, an event Charlie was happy to avoid until the all clear was granted her father finally insisting that she had to come home before her nieces and nephew were no longer recognisable to her. The last thing Charlie wanted was to be alien to her family members; especially the youngest ones. 

Elliot knew she was home without Charlie needing to knock. She hadn’t even moved from the railing, three drags into her cigarette before the front door was pulled open, small blonde stepping through. 

‘Hey,’ she always spoke on the same soft register their mother reached at bedtimes weaving in between rooms with books and promises of tomorrow. Little mouse, through and through. Elliot had grown into their mother, minus a few inches on her height, as she remained cool, calm, collected and in control no matter the circumstance. She taught fourth grade, mastering the ability to juggle her own three children and a class of twenty-five nine-year-olds. Charlie held a great respect for her in doing that, just as their mother swallowed her pride on Elliot not teaching High School or mastering quantum physics. It had long since become a reality for Claire Dearing that her daughter’s wouldn’t climb prestigious ladders. Instead, Elliot would do her part to help children learn and Charlie would — well, Charlie played with tigers on her hands and knees forming bonds beyond zoo enclosures, out in the wild to better understand them. She was Jane Goodall and David Attenborough rolled into one dangerous mix Claire struggled to hear about. No doubt, she was proud of her daughters regardless. 

Charlie fluttered a smile in her sister’s direction, ignoring the scolding look Elliot passed towards the cigarette. There had been a time where she would have asked for a drag, long before either of them should have known where to get cigarettes, let alone have them in their possession. It was simple rebellion, born when they were young back when Charlie harboured a tattoo no one but Elliot knew about. 

There was a baby in Elliot’s arms. Charlie didn’t miss that fact, her eyes drawn to the chubby pink baby clad in a blue striped onesie. She put out her cigarette, dropping it to the deck and stepping on it before kicking it off the side and into the grass. Elliot sighed with disapproval before she handed her son over. ‘I didn’t know you were coming home.’ 

‘Surprise?’ Charlie shrugged, accepting the heavy bundle of her six-month-old nephew. ‘Hey little buddy, I’m your Aunt Charlie.’ She introduced herself to the inquisitive eyed child, smiling down at his face despite feeling a tear pull apart in her heart. He was so much bigger, heavier, rounder in the cheeks but she saw something in her nephew’s eyes Charlie couldn’t deny. He looked like his dad, so much so, but there was a distant memory trying to grow through his features. ‘He looks like Max.’ 

She saw her sister drop to the chair on the porch, head in her hands as she sighed heavily. ‘Please don’t say that.’ Elliot grimaced, barely looking up at her sister and her son. Charlie shrugged again. He did. Same blond hair threatening to turn red and their mother’s green eyes. Their brother had been small when he died, barely developed his discerning features forever a mystery but Charlie _swore_ she saw Max Grady in Louis Yates’ face. 

‘He’d be twenty-one this year.’ She started, eyes lost in her nephew. Charlie should have been home, escorting her brother from one nightclub to the next as he legally got intoxicated. She should have been able to see him graduate from college or come home from travelling the world. He was supposed to be as grown as they were now, still squatting in their parents house because why would the baby boy want to leave the luxuries of home? Their loving mother would be handing him the moon in having his laundry done. Not that Charlie could remember a time her mother did the laundry beyond putting clothes away a paid cleaner had washed. 

‘Stop it, Charlie.’ Elliot pleaded. ‘I don’t want to think about it.’ 

‘You don’t want to think about your brother?’ Charlie questioned, pushing buttons. She should have come earlier; to visit, to see her nephew immediately after he was born. To be honest, Charlie hid herself away as fast as she could when her sister told her she was pregnant with a third. Elliot elected to not find out the gender until the baby was born but the fact that it was a third child to a Grady woman did not bode well with Charlie and past events. Her aversion got worse when Toby sent her a birth announcement introducing Louis to the family. She stayed away as long as she could before her father told her she needed to make young memories with her nephew. He was six months old, well beyond the SIDS mark and that alone tried to comfort her. 

Louis was in perfect health, hadn’t even so much as had the hiccups in his short life. It should have been soothing but Charlie was fearing for the worst. She likely wouldn’t rest on the matter until she was in her grave. 

‘I don’t want to think about it because I _barely_ remember him. There’s no use wasting my energy worrying about something that happened twenty-years ago.’ She saw Charlie recoil, something akin to disgust slipping across her face. ‘Louis is _not_ Max. Can we _please_ move on.’ 

Charlie shuffled her weight, holding the baby in one arm as she reached for the wallet in her back pocket. Expertly she flicked it open and shimmied something out of a sleeve before thrusting it in Elliot’s direction. The picture was old, twenty-years had passed it in the recesses of Charlie’s wallet, edges soft and slightly fraying, the colour faded. It had been folded at one point, crease right down the middle but that didn’t deviate from the subject at hand. Elliot’s heart clenched at the thought of her sister carrying this around for years, clinging on to God knew what in it’s memory. 

The picture was simple, the memory blurred for Elliot but warm in hushed whispers and tight hugs with her family. She was only three at the time, unable to recall the picture being taken but there it was regardless. The whole Dearing-Grady family of five. It had been taken in the hospital, likely by their grandmother, Elliot tucked into her mother’s left side, Charlie on her right, Owen curled around them, his cheek pressed to the top of his wife’s head over Elliot’s shoulder. Max was in Charlie’s arms, four sets of eyes on him. It baffled Elliot momentarily as to why Charlie had this picture instead of the professional ones their mother had organised — fortunately — a week or two before Max left them. She spotted it without needing reference of the studio photos. It was all on Charlie. Even if she couldn’t remember it, the love in Charlie’s twenty-year-old expression was unmistakable. She would have laid down her life for that boy immediately if it was a matter of choice. She would have done the same for Elliot. Charlie, despite being absent and forcing aloof on her personality, was fiercely loyal. She had shown her sister that time and time again no matter how hard they fought. It had driven their mother crazy with constant bickering and at dire times, physical fighting only for Charlie or Elliot to turn on her when she tried to discipline one of them for causing an issue. 

There was no winning with the Grady girls. 

‘Charlie, why do you have this?’ Elliot asked, turning sad blue eyes on her sister. She could feel her heart breaking along with Charlie’s, with their parents at their time of tragedy. Elliot had lived her life knowing someone was following her with every milestone. She was near two years older than him at time of conception and yet everything she did felt like her parents were waiting for someone else to catch up. She tried her best to ignore it but at her highest times of achievement she felt it crawl up her spine. Even though she didn’t remember him and didn’t want to think about him at all; Max had never left Elliot. 

Charlie shrugged, lifting her nephew closer to her face as she kissed his forehead before handing him back to her sister. ‘I know I’ve not been home for a while but even I know Mom and Dad started pulling out his pictures again.’ She wasn’t wrong, the studio photos they had taken, the family portrait of all five Dearing-Grady’s had taken place on the mantel piece for the first time. Never had that picture been up on a wall or sitting on a side table. They arrived too late to be cherished. Now, it seemed, old wounds were finally healing Owen and Claire ready to outwardly cherish the small time they had with their son. Louis grizzled in his mother’s arms, Elliot tearing her attention from her sister to assist in soothing him. ‘I stole it from Dad actually.’ Charlie was talking about the picture now back in her hands and she stroked the edges. ‘He had in in his wallet since the day it was taken. He almost had it a whole year before I pinched it. Max’s first birthday was hard on all of us, but I could see Dad panicked a little more than the rest. He lost the picture. I had it, he didn’t know, nor did he ask and I certainly wasn’t surrendering it. All of Max’s other pictures were in the garage or with Nana and I couldn’t just _ask_ for one.’ She could have. They all knew it. Charlie would have been given the moon if it meant cracking the code to her baffling actions. She was moody and unpredictable, she was getting kicked out of school and put on the bench in her sports teams. She upped the anti on physical activity. She stopped swimming, started running until she puked, kept on with baseball but prioritised karate until she hit a few too many kids on purpose and called them weak. She begged her parents for ice skates and a place on the hockey team; rink and field. At eight years old she didn’t stop moving; if she did, Charlie thought she would drown. Her parents strategised it as a way to channel her aggression. 

Elliot had been none the wiser, caught in her youth and draped in attention. When Max died, all their parents wanted was the baby that left them. Elliot was the next best replacement, still young and willing for a cuddle. Charlie went through the five stages of grief in an unpredictable order, never reaching acceptance and ending on anger but having passed through depression in her original isolation and denial stage. After a while, she didn’t want to be touched or spoken to; Elliot got all the attention as Charlie icily shrugged her parents away. 

They had wondered what they did wrong, why Charlie hated them all the while Charlie thew her first into other people, or slammed them against walls because she didn’t know how to relate anymore. She was broken, always had been and always would. They had their good days, years even but it always came back to this bitter little girl who was screaming inside because she lost her brother. 

‘I don’t think he knows I have it.’ Charlie continued, waving the picture at Elliot one last time before she slid it back into her wallet. ‘I want it to remain that way.’ She warned softly, replacing her wallet in her pocket and pulling out another cigarette. 

Elliot shook her head, trying hard not to judge her sister’s bad habit as she rocked the baby in her arms, legs crossed, reclined in the porch chair. They’d spent too many summers out there, running in the sprinklers, or racing their bikes up and down the driveway and out onto the street when the coast was clear. It was a given, whenever Elliot turned her head that her mother was sitting on the porch, lemonade in hand, reading a book and watching them over the pages or that their father was tinkering in the garage, door wide open so he could race to their aid. It was almost strange sitting there as adults, knowing, for Elliot, that her two eldest children were inside running their grandparents ragged while she stepped out for fresh air. No one even knew Charlie had ascended on the porch just yet. 

‘I just don’t get the use of hanging onto the past, Char. He’s gone. He wasn’t even here for that long.’ It didn’t stop them from avoiding their parents bedroom for weeks or skirting around the subject of baby boys for the rest of their lives. 

Charlie turned away from her sister, watching the small flowerbed at her feet dance in a faint breeze. ‘C’mon, Ellie. Dad’s allowed to harbour angst but I’m not?’ 

‘Dad doesn’t _harbour angst_.’ Charlie cocked a brow, fingers flicking at her cigarette as she challenged her sister. She caught Elliot in a moment, the younger girl pausing as she cocked her head and bit her lip in thought. There was something there, Charlie knew it. ‘Maybe he still worries.’ Elliot knew he did. Thinking back, she saw how closely he hovered when Louis was born, how he barely left her house and Elliot elected to ignore the behaviour instead of putting it in the basket of ‘odd’. 

‘He’s never going to stop. Dad’ll always worry about you, me, Nora, Grace, Louis, Mom and Max, especially Max. He’ll always be concerned that he’ll lose us when it’s his job to keep us safe.’ 

Elliot kissed her son’s head. ‘It’s not fair that he projects that worry onto us though. From the second I found out I was pregnant with Louis, I felt like all eyes were on me. I not only had to carry to term but I had to make sure he _lived_.’ Her eyes were on her son, not her sister as she stoked the baby’s chubby cheeks. She felt the weight of her whole family on her shoulders the second she missed her period. It was enough that Elliot agonised over telling her family and when her doctor confirmed it was a boy, Elliot was sick with worry and guilt. She didn’t remember the minute detail’s of Max’s face like Charlie did or the colour of his eyes. Their parents had put his baby pictures up along side hers, Charlie’s and that of their grand-babies but his face seemed foreign beside familiar faces. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t worried their genetic history would make a repeat event. 

Charlie called it the Dearing-Grady family curse. Aside from Heather, everyone on both the Dearing side of the family and the Grady’s only had two children; typically of the same gender. Their aunt Karen had boys, so did their Uncle Travis. Their parents had two girls, so did Elliot. When a third baby was tried for it either didn’t happen or once conceived was miscarried. Elliot hated that Charlie would whisper like that, joining the dots at family events and pointing it out to whomever would listen. Elliot caught her one year, Charlie home for the holidays leaning into the shoulder of a friend she bought along, pointing to all the children and asking why each set of adults only settled on two. She was convinced it was the cosmos for some inexplicable reason. Elliot wished she would shut up. 

She knew, when she confirmed a third pregnancy that everyone would be _wishing_ nothing went wrong. Elliot knew, too, that her father was practically praying for a grandson while simultaneously asking for a third granddaughter. They all knew he wanted someone to fill the Max shaped hole in his life but had grown so accustom to having it there he didn’t want it to go away. Elliot lived nine months terrified that her body would betray her as her mother hovered close and her father dropped everything for the smallest of things. Her husband didn’t know. She wanted it that way, Elliot couldn’t bear having _another_ person breathing down her neck or reaching out to her with shaking hands. It was Charlie who scared her the most. They had never been _close_ but they were always there for each other. Charlie stopped answering her phone. 

Louis was born a week past his due date, happy with his delayed entry into the world. His height and weight were a little over average, his fingers and toes in place. He came home immediately to a house commandeered by her parents who took shifts spending the night and checking on him during the day like Toby or Elliot couldn’t manage. She liked the distraction of having them there, watching her dad play with her daughters like she remembered him playing with her. Their presence was suffocating with the reminder that a baby once died on their watch and they desperately didn’t want it to happen again. 

Their visits dropped down and dwindled once he hit the safe mark of three-months-old. They were still around, still required Elliot to come over once a week for dinner, and all round offered to help whenever she needed it. She knew they wouldn’t rest, no matter how old Louis got. There was always going to be a threat on his young life because the _cosmos hated them_. 

‘He’s beautiful, Ellie.’ Charlie offered. ‘He’s gonna be fine.’ She lent back against the porch railing, forearms braced. ‘All your babies are perfectly safe.’ She grinned, foot kicking her bag. There was no doubt that her sister had great kids, funny, kind, smart and loving. Charlie was itching to head inside and see them but Max kept her outside with Elliot. 

The front door creaked the same familiar sound their father refused to oil. It was homely, remained as a reminder for their daughters sneaking out. ‘Charlie?’ Their mother’s voice was one of those sounds ingrained into their thoughts, never to be forgotten and distinctly something both girls felt they _owned_. Heads turned, wide eyes looking to their mother with a silent promise that they weren’t fighting. ‘I didn’t know you were coming home.’ Claire breathed, pulling the front door behind her as she moved for her eldest. 

Charlie tried to hide her cigarette just short of dropping it when Claire plucked it from her hands without a word dropping it immediately to the porch and stepping on it. She hugged her daughter with a tight grip, squeezing Charlie’s arms before she stepped back to take her in.

‘Thought a visit was overdue.’ She shrugged, playing nonchalant despite the warmth that filled her at the sight of her mother. Claire, so far as her daughters were concerned, was never changing. Her hairdresser kept most of the grey’s out of her red hair and her smile remained genuine in their direction. It had almost become disgusting how close their parents still were, Charlie and Elliot convinced they would never stop cringing when they kissed. ‘Hadn’t met Louis yet … and, um, I can’t quite get a braid right.’ She shrugged, arms raising behind her head to prove her arms were clumsy. Charlie’s smile grew, proper, wide, Charlie’s-happy-smile. 

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Just know the assembly line you’re about to start the second you walk in there.’ 

‘The girls are here?’ She asked, unsure if it was just Elliot and Louis or if her nieces actually were inside occupying their parents with pleas for food and games. Claire nodded. Charlie’s grin widened. She knew exactly what kind of hell her father would be in for. Owen would have chosen a different word. 

‘You’re a child.’ Elliot told her, chuckling with a gentle smile, telling her sister that her words weren’t malicious. 

‘Ew,’ Charlie turned back to Elliot, ‘You’re a grown up’. She poked out her tongue. 

She kissed her mother’s cheek, not missing the way Claire still smelled of vanilla, soaking Charlie in memories of tearful hugs and joyful eskimo kisses. She moved inside like she was coming home from school, reclaiming the space that had missed her in a six hour period, or the weeks she would spend away at college, rolling into months between visits. 

‘Aunt Charlie!’ Two little voices screeched, jumping up from the very place on the carpet she had played as a kid. They barrelled into her legs, five-year-old Nora with her Dearing green eyes and the dark hair they all denied knowing where it came from. It was Markus, through and through, but that name wasn’t to be uttered under any roof in relation to Nora, Elliot or Toby. Grace followed her sister, two-years-old with trademark Elliot blonde hair curling on her head as she looked at Charlie with curious brown eyes. She had no doubt the littlest girl didn’t remember her but was following her sister’s excitement for the thrill of it. 

Instead of scooping them into her arms, she dropped into a crouch, letting Nora throw her arms around her neck while Grace touched tentative fingers to Charlie’s knee. 

‘Hey Gracie, do you remember me?’ She asked, making sure to not touch without permission as Nora squeezed her fiercely, loudly exclaiming that her sister _had_ to remember Aunt Charlie.

‘Charlie’s home!’ Owen boomed from around the corner, practically running into the room with a grin on his face wider than the rising sun. Grace moved for her grandfather, instantly hiding herself behind his legs as he bent in half, twisting his torso to pick her up. ‘It’s just Char —‘ He promised Grace, bouncing the girl on his hip. ‘— back from her Jane Goodall endeavours.’

‘Back?’ Claire scoffed behind Charlie, Louis on her hip, greedily slobbering on the Mother’s Day necklace Charlie and Elliot picked out when they were little girls. ‘Pretty sure you encouraged her love of the jungle and there’s no way Charlie’s leaving that.’ The eldest winked at her mother, chuckling as she shrugged an apology in her father’s direction. He had been the one to _beg_ her to come home for just a little. ‘She just needs you to braid her hair then she’s on the next flight out.’ Claire teased, squeezing Charlie’s shoulder as Owen deflated with a playful pout. 

Nora, at her aunt’s hip, piped up, eyes wide at the mention of braids. Five sets of female eyes were on Owen, three of them hopeful while the others looked on in amusement. ‘What do you say, Grace? Do we braid their hair?’ Owen asked the toddler, jostling the girl as Charlie and Nora looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

Grace reminded her aunt too much of Elliot as a girl, quiet and reserved but capable of great destruction. At least it was nice to see a blonde haired child cling to their father for support rather than heading straight for Claire’s skirts. They watched Grace’s face, eyes trying to will her to move as the girl pressed her fist to her mouth in contemplation. It felt like years before she gave a gentle nod. 

Nora rushed to the couch, throwing her hands against Charlie’s shoulder to gain momentum before she jumped, letting the cushions bounce around her. ‘I get to go first, don’t I, granddad?’ She turned her grandmother’s eyes on their weak father as Charlie clambered across the room to plop herself in front of the couch. 

Charlie tilted her head back until it met the couch cushion beside her niece’s hip. ‘If I tell you were Nan hides all the good chocolate, can I go first?’ Charlie tried to bargain as Claire and Elliot scolded from their place in the doorway and with Louis on the play mat. 

‘I don’t hide chocolate.’ Claire tried to defend herself with a pout. It had been years since both girls lived under the same roof, the older woman needing to hide her stash or else hormonal teenagers would get into it. 

Owen hummed, putting Grace on her feet as he watched the girl wobble for a second before he looked to his wife. ‘I don’t know, babe. What about that spot —’She cut him off with a glare. Maybe she was, just a block or two because her gluttonous husband had to watch his weight and also managed to tear through her favourites as if two teenagers were still there to scavenge for sweet things. 

Nora easily took the trade, grinning mischievously in her grandmother’s direction as Charlie pinkie promised to deliver the goods. Owen clicked his tongue as he stepped around them, squishing himself beside Nora on the couch and behind Charlie, still sitting on the floor. ‘You don’t happen to have a brush and hair-tie in your back pocket?’ He asked Charlie, hands heavy on her shoulders as Nora volunteered to go find one in her _sleepover kit_. 

For Charlie, it had not felt like she was _home_ until her father leant down and wrapped his arms around her, cheek pressed to her head as he squeezed tight. Charlie wrapped her arms around his refusing to let go. ‘Hey, Charlie Bear.’ Owen kissed her temple, his grey stubble scratching her cheek with all the memories of bed time kisses and late night movies on the couch. His stubble reminded Charlie of listening to her mother shriek with suppressed laughter as their father rubbed his five-o’clock shadow on her face, or the time that Elliot screamed blue murder because he shaved, young mind unable to recognise him. 

‘Hey, Daddy Bear.’ She didn’t realise how childish she would feel until the words left her mouth, vulnerable eyes searching the faces in the room for judgement but none came. 

‘I have all my girls back.’ Owen grinned past Charlie’s ear, smiling at his wife who was sitting on the floor opposite, playing with their grandson in her lap. She watched him with a quirk on her lips, like they were still new parents, marvelling at their young girls growing up. 

Claire grinned, same sparkle in her eye that was always present when Owen spoke about Charlie or Elliot. ‘You know, I’m surprised she’s in one piece.’ Claire commented and Charlie forced a smile. Her mother didn’t approve of the whole co-living with tigers, Jane Goodall to the big cats thing Charlie had going on. She supported her, but didn’t like knowing her daughter was likely to be killed on a feline whim. Charlie didn’t have the energy to fight about it, every time she looked at her mother holding the baby she saw Max over and over, mixed with the depression her parents wore for months. Charlie lent back into her father’s embrace, head turned slightly. 

‘He looks like Max.’ She whispered quietly only for Owen to hear as she waited for his face to fall. It didn’t. Owen nodded as a small smile twitched at his lips. He admitted for Charlie’s ears only that he liked that. She knew they would talk more later, over a shared beer when Toby showed up for dinner and had the small family started to shuffle out the door. Her mother would head upstairs to have a shower or change her clothes and Charlie would be able to _talk_. 

He let her go when Nora returned, whole toiletries bag in her hand and two apricots, one of which she dropped on Charlie’s lap. Her heart strings pulled, warm and cold as she realised the little girls in that room had no idea when or how these came about. Nora was obsessed with the fruit tree in the backyard, Claire’s garden her favourite place to be when the weather was nice and she had no idea it’s true story. She thanked her niece with a small smile, watching as the girl bit into the fruit while Charlie held her tongue. 

Owen started wordlessly, pulling on familiar red hair as he manipulated it between his fingers. He had only started when he stopped, hands still holding her hair in strands as he watched Claire pick up the fussing baby, sick of his sister pulling on his limbs. ‘Give me, Louis.’ Owen offered, Charlie practically hearing her father’s smirk as her mother looked at him in confusion. He was busy. ‘Never too early for a boy to learn how to braid.’ Claire gave in, settling the boy in her husband’s lap as Owen twisted his arms to keep the boy upright whilst still managing to do Charlie’s hair. He had practice at this and even though he hadn’t done it in a while everyone in the room trusted him. ‘And who knows, maybe he’ll drool in Charlie’s hair.’ He chuckled, holding on tight as Charlie tried to yank herself away. His daughter, the girl who lived with tigers, was scared of getting baby drool in her hair and if that wasn’t nearly the best thing Owen had learned about her then he was at a loss. 

The group laughed, giggles pulled from Nora as Grace echoed the sound, Elliot grinning at her sister and father in the same motherly expression their mother maintained for two decades. She avoided this like it would give her the plague, scared to come home and face the empty holes of her family but every time she returned, Charlie felt the love bloom from them, filling her with warmth and contentment. She would sleep soundly in a bed for the first time since her nephew was born seeing that he was happy and noisy and full of life, helping her father pull on her hair or wiggling in her mother’s lap. She would hold him again later, after dinner when he was sleepy and try to make amends with Max’s memory. 


	177. #177 - To Build a Home: Our Future Starts Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen finding out that Claire is pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t decide if I posted the whole pregnancy or just this bit. Considering it’s just under 5k, you can have this bit on its own and feel free to prompt more for the rest of this AU.

He was home, arms wrapped around her in their large bathtub, water milky with her favourite salts as candles flickered light against the walls. Claire couldn’t remember a time she had been so content without the man inside her, aftershocks of an orgasm tingling across her skin. They didn’t have time for this before, three years of sprinkled visits barely lasting any longer than three weeks at a time. He came in, and out of that front door so rarely Claire could hardly remember a time where he managed it every day. Was this still their house? Or had it become hers solely in his constant absence?

Three years ago she felt like the wait would be agony. With it all behind them, Claire saw it pass in the blink of an eye. She wished he didn’t have to do it. That there was a way, Owen could have said  _no_ , in the beginning, to save them from the lost time. He did what he had to do, Whiskey too, the both of them home and in her presence once again never to bow at the commands of the American Government.

Claire cracked an eye open, skin flushed with the boiling water from the tub, room steaming as the slightest chill graced her left shoulder. She knew Whiskey had squeezed herself into the triangle of space the barely open door had left. Her back was to them, always keeping an eye out as she faced the bedroom ready to alert Owen of any threats. Claire hummed deep in the back of her throat, eyes practically rolling into her head as she felt her husband’s thick fingers climb up her spine, pressing on her sore spots and relieving her vertebrae. She didn’t fall into their milk and honey scented trap, eyes still open, hair curled on top of her head, damp with the humidity as he kissed the nape of her neck. She wanted to talk to him about something, propose an idea that had been growing between them since he bought the house. War had put it off, time away preventing accurate execution.

Claire watched her engagement ring sparkle in the yellow light, gently twisting her wrist to catch the prisms as they moved. It felt like centuries ago since he slid that ring onto her finger. It had only been a year. Owen didn’t want to propose the way he had, but necessity won out against desire. She accepted regardless, understanding the situation but knowing deep down that they were headed for that road anyway. He was haphazardly building her a house in the rare moments he had at home before being sent back to a war zone. If he didn’t marry her or want to at least, there had to have been mixed messages. He had joked and teased and played about children, too, hinting of a future they could have had the second the house project started. Owen had been relentless until his contract interfered.

She had to keep reminding herself that she was home now, his thighs strong against her knees,  Claire cradled in the slope of his hips as they sat in the tub trying not to rush. They had acted like savages when he got home, fucking on every surface available until Claire realised he was home for good, the need to rush dissipating as their kisses shifted from hurried to savoured. They had time to take their time. They didn’t have to devour each other every night. They were  _trying_  not to devour each other every night, but Owen had been reminded of how much he adored it when her right leg twitched in the pre and post escalation of her climax. He had become fixated on that point, catching the muscle in motion over and over again. She didn’t mind. She had missed the devilish smirk on his face and the way he made her temperature rise with a single wink.

Claire had missed him in mind and spirit just as he had missed her in body and soul.

His hands rolled across her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the back of her neck as Claire pulled her knees to her chest, sinking into the sensation. Owen didn’t waste time in reaching for the clip that kept her hair up letting fire slip down her back in waves. She felt the muscles in his thighs twitch against her hips. She let him wash her hair, sound of water trickling back into the tub filling her with peace as his fingers massaged her scalp.

He always used too much shampoo. She supposed it was a male thing, husband behind her softly sighing at the gentle smell before he ran the product through her hair. She had loved the sound of a good lather forming on her scalp, the feel of silky lotion against her hands threading through the strands of her hair and past her fingers. It was no different when Owen did it.

They were still trying to figure it out. Life, reacquainted with an old routine they had forgotten the steps too. She was sure they were going to fall apart. The joy of having him home overwhelmed each of their senses, but it was getting too much. Maybe they couldn’t go back to who they were before he was re-enlisted. Claire doubted that Owen still existed. She could see the rough lines on his face and feel the callouses on his hands. He had hardened, mind more solid, less playful.

He wasn’t suffering from war time side effects. Owen had checked out a clean bill of mental and physical health; despite the tense muscles in his right leg remaining from seven months ago. He was just quiet now, reverting to military training that kept him comfortable. She did have to acknowledge that he had always held a silent side; until his mouth opened.

Claire let go, eyes closed as she leant into his touch. ‘I thought maybe we could paint the spare room next.’ She offered quietly, addressing a subject that was often broached but never dealt with. Their four bedroom home was fit with a shared room specifically for when her nephews came to visit, a guest for his parents or her sister and a third untouched room that Owen and Claire never finished.

He hummed a familiar, tired sound that used to reach her down the lines of the phone when they managed to connect a call. ‘Are you sure? I’ve still got plenty else to finish.’ He kissed her shoulder, knowing how much she hated that the stairwell had tried to kill her for the last three years, or their unfinished and often draughty laundry. Not to mention the whole second story was a mess aside from the master suite and the room for Zach and Gray. The spare, undedicated room could surely wait until they decided what to do with it.

Claire nodded. Scared to say her piece in fear of who they had become over the last three years. Owen had been so adamant to discuss it towards the end of his tour. But, that was before he got hurt and before they married. She didn’t know what direction they were going in now, but she felt it was the time to bring it up. Claire felt capable and confident, and she needed her husband to know the green light was there if he wanted it. ‘I want to have a baby.’ She told him softly, eyes squeezing closed as her arms loosened their grip on her legs to fall against his in the water. His hands stilled in her hair, ceasing the lather he had been building up as she felt his nervous nails twitch. ‘I’m not pregnant or anything.’ She traced her finger in a circle around his knee. ‘I just thought, you always brought it up, and I always put you off, and now you’re  _home_ , and we’re  _married._ We’re not getting any younger.’ She shifted in the large tub, twisting her body to face his. ‘And these things, Owen, they take time. So many people spend  _months_  or  _years_  just  _trying_  to get pregnant. The spare doesn’t have to be done now, I just thought maybe, if you were comfortable, we could start talking about it?’ She could barely look at him, nerves suddenly engulfing her confidence. Claire had barely thought about it, idea settling against her ribs as they sat there in hot water, soaking in each other. He had always prodded at her with the idea, niggling it into the back of her mind. She was bound to give in one day. Maybe the timing was a little rushed, but she wanted to be well prepared. Technically speaking, a baby was all they were missing.

Owen stared at her, wide owl eyes practically gaping before he pulled her into him and crushed his mouth against hers. She giggled against his mouth, teeth nipping at his full bottom lip as she revelled in the scratch of his stubble against her chin.

‘God, I have missed you.’ She breathed, bumping his nose with hers. Claire wasn’t getting over this feeling anytime soon. He was home, there in her arms and he wasn’t going away. They could continue the life they tried to build.

He cupped her face between his large hands, thumbs rubbing soapy circles against her temples. ‘Are you sure about this?’ He asked her, hands pushing through her hair, moving to rinse her of shampoo suds. Claire nodded, teeth in her bottom lip, their faces only inches apart.

‘I’ve never been more sure about anything.’ She promised, kissing him deeply as he pulled her against him, Claire’s body sliding over his as she moved to straddle his hips. Truthfully, she was scared. This was territory neither of them had entered before, an unknown landscape that would stretch on for the rest of their lives. She had been a military wife for long enough, sitting in a dusty, unfinished house waiting for him to come home and finish it. What was the harm in adding a baby? ‘It’s not going to happen right away.’ She told him with another kiss, reassuring herself and their comfortable reality, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth descended on her neck.

‘We can still practice though?’ She felt his grin below her ear, the man ready to strike against her sweet spot. Claire stuttered out a breathy ‘ _definitely’_  as she surrendered herself to the grip of his hands, the lull of hot water and the pressure of her husband’s lips.

[…]

Claire was still wincing at the thought of the needle in her skin, long gone now as the memory remained, slight pain stinging in her elbow. She tried to move past it, focusing instead on the light skip in her step and happy voice in the back of her head.

Her doctor thought she was pregnant. In fact, the other woman was pretty confident what Claire considered to be a stomach flu was, in fact, something else. Claire stuttered like she was a girl, failing to recall the last time she used a tampon as an embarrassed flush rose under her bronzer. She couldn’t recall the last time she had her period, or if she had had it at all in the last handful of months. Claire felt stupid for not realising or connecting the dots sooner.

She and Owen had discussed expanding their lives, Claire should have expected the result.

Her doctor warned that it was just a suspicion, the results could still come back negative. Claire couldn’t squish her hope, light acceptance bubbling in her chest as a smile pushed at the corners of her mouth. This was what they wanted. The ticking of her biological clock suddenly silent in the back of her head. Her heart kept time, beating heavily beneath her skin and promising to do so until her doctor called with confirmation.

Claire didn’t go home straight away. Still sick to her stomach, she powered through with new motivation. Claire bought herself a juice and lead herself to Owen’s favourite hardware. The painting section was all she was familiar with, home decorator instead of demolition and construction. They had stood in the long isles for hours arguing over paint swatches quietly among themselves only to settle on one Claire would undoubtedly change her mind on in the afternoon.

Alone this time, she pondered over colour coded sections picking a few different varieties in varying shades before shoving the swatches in her back pocket and calling it a day.

Owen was home when she got back, Whiskey circling her feet as she walked through the door, trying not to trip over the large dog sniffing at her pant legs. ‘There you are.’ Owen grinned, jumping up from the kitchen island to kiss her cheek. ‘Feeling better?’ He asked, leading her to the chair he had occupied and slid a sandwich in front of her place. He’d come home on his lunch break to check on his flu addled wife, bringing her something fresh to eat and another juice from her favourite place. ‘Pumped with Vitamin C,’ he told her, tapping on the side of the paper cup.

She could feel that same hopeful joy spreading across her chest, white hot and tingling in her limbs as she smiled up at the man who stopped at nothing short of the moon to keep her happy. ‘I went to the hardware.’ She told him, shifting to pull the paint swatches out of her back pocket, dumping them on the bench beside her lunch.

Owen hummed, holding his lunch in one hand as the other prodded thick fingers through the colours she had brought home. They were all  _pastel_ ; pink, blue, yellow and green faint but full of colour. If she was trying to give him a hint, Owen was on to it.  _Nursery._  The very same light grey he had once proposed to her was in the mix, still screaming a subtle elegance beside the traditional pastels often used to fill a baby’s room. ‘I still say the grey.’ He told her, pointing at the almost white silver in the bunch. It matched the rest of the house but still stood out on its own. ‘Babe?’ Owen inhaled on the question, voice almost caught in his voice as he tilted a curious look in her direction. ‘Are you pregnant?’ His index finger tapped at the grey sample.

She stilled, caught like a bear in a trap. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to give herself away before she knew for sure. How could she be so naive? Of course, the paint gave her away. Claire couldn’t lie to him.

‘My doctor thinks it’s a possibility.’ She told him, sliding her drink towards her as she took a sip. She couldn’t look at him, scared of his reaction despite knowing it would be nothing below excitement. Claire heard him choke. ‘She said, she’ll call me tomorrow with my results. It might be negative.’

‘You haven’t got the flu?’ He asked, piecing the puzzle together as he turned her chair towards him. Claire shrugged. She wasn’t sure. If he had asked her that morning, she would have put her symptoms to a virus, but with the question in her head and the numbers not adding up she couldn’t help but believe it was true.

Owen pulled her into his lap, chuckling at her surprised squeak as he tried to balance them both on the one stool. He had an arm around her back, holding her steady as the other cupped the back of her head, Owen peppering her face with overexcited kisses incapable of focusing on one spot.

Whiskey yipped beside them until both Owen and Claire reached down with a hand and scratched her ears promising the dog they were both alright.

‘Don’t get too excited.’ She told him, kissing his lips casually, her hands on his cheeks fingers gently grazing the five o’clock shadow that was becoming a permanent part of his appearance. It was too late, she knew it, he was over the moon with joy, and there was nothing Claire could do to stop it. ‘There’s a fifty-fifty chance the test will be negative.’ She warned him a second time.

Owen shook his head. ‘You said it wouldn’t happen immediately.’ He teased her, smile not leaving his face as she rolled her eyes. ‘I’m gonna say it did.’ His grin widened, confidence flashing in his eyes. Claire cupped his face, kissing his lips gently to dismiss his good humour. ‘We’ve been going at it like rabbits. Wouldn’t be surprised, Claire.’ She rolled her eyes again as she playfully pushed at his shoulder. He wasn’t wrong.

Owen lifted her from his lap to the edge of the counter, revelling in the way Claire huffed. He slipped from the stool, half on his knees as he pressed fat kisses to her slender stomach, his hands cradling her hips. She had to be pregnant. ‘I love you.’ He told her, looking up with wide green eyes that melted directly into hers.

Claire grinned, finger on her lips. ‘I love you too.’ She met him half way, locking lips intimately as he pushed back into her embrace, happy to bend her over the counter and prove his words for the rest of the afternoon. ‘But,’ she stopped him, hand flat on his chest. ‘I still really want to eat my lunch and sleep for the rest of the day.’ He had forgotten, in the excitement, that she wasn’t feeling well. He pulled away, apologising softly as he helped his wife back onto her bar stool, Owen kissing her cheek as he slid the chicken and lettuce sandwich towards her again.

He didn’t let go of her. His hand stayed glued to her leg as they ate in quiet chatter, Owen talking about his morning at work and what was expected for the rest of the afternoon. She caught him staring openly, unashamed that he was grinning in her direction so widely he could swallow the sun.

She hadn’t seen him this upbeat about anything since he came home.

He tucked her into bed when their lunch was finished, kissing her cheek with a firm hand rubbing soft circles across her hip. Whiskey pressed her nose to Claire’s wrist in a parting gesture as Owen promised he’d be back in a few hours. He was gone seconds, her eyelids heavy, sleep washing over her in languid waves when she heard his voice from downstairs. ‘Fuck it.’ He’d said before his footsteps climbed the stairs and descended down the hall. He re-entered their bedroom quietly before gently climbing in behind her, wrapping his arms around his unconfirmed-pregnant wife. ‘Work can wait.’ He promised her, kissing the back of her head.

Claire wanted to protest. To tell him he would look silly when the doctor called tomorrow to tell her she wasn’t pregnant. He’d feel like an idiot wasting so much excitement on a possibility that turned out to be nothing. She didn’t have the strength. But, she did have the promise that he was going to be excited if and when they positively conceived.

‘I can’t stop thinking about a bossy little-redheaded girl.’ He breathed into her hair, voice far off in his daydream of their future child. ‘She’s gonna have me around her little finger.’ Owen promised, kissing his wife’s shoulder as his hand moved from her hip to her abdomen. Even in her desperation for sleep, Claire couldn’t stop her heart from melting. He was in love with her, with the future, and with a child that hadn’t been confirmed. Claire was going to stop at nothing to give him everything that he dreamed.

‘It could be a boy.’ She told him sleepily, letting a smile cross her lips before she gave into the warmth of her husband behind her and the desperate need to quell her wobbling stomach.

[…]

She forced him to go to work the next day. He feigned a head cold to lay in bed with her a little longer. Determined to get her life back under control, Claire kicked Owen and Whiskey out of the house and told him under no circumstances was he to come back until 6 pm.

She tried to go into work herself, living with a new mindset that she was queasy because she was pregnant and not because of the flu that was trying to push her temperature higher than average. For the most part, it worked. It didn’t stop her from being distracted, looking at her phone every three minutes to catch it ringing.

A watched pot never boiled, or so her grandmother used to tut in her direction, forcing Claire to shove her phone in her desk drawer and focus back on her work. She reasoned, too, that if she forced the phone to ring it might be bad news. Whereas, if she left it alone and stopped thinking about it, her chances of a positive result would be higher. There was a reason why Claire was a business woman and not a scientist, but the idea helped soothe her.

Her phone rang at quarter past three, Claire almost missing it as it buzzed on vibrate in the middle drawer of her desk. She almost thought it was Owen, happy to ignore her impatient husband in an attempt to stay away from her phone. He would find out when they got home. It would make it seem more exciting that way. She had already ruined the initial surprise. They needed some suspense.

Claire’s hands shook as she answered, recognising the number from her doctor’s office as she answered with a strong voice.

Off the phone, Claire couldn’t sit there and continue the rest of the day like the news she had been delivered didn’t matter. She needed Owen; needed to see his face, hear his voice, feel his arms wrap her in a tight hug as he promised everything was going to be okay. She wanted Whiskey at her feet and the familiar smell of Owen in her nose.

She felt the office with a small word to her assistant, unsure if she would be back for the rest of the day. Everyone there knew she shouldn’t have arrived that morning, no one was going to protest her departure.

Upon his return home to American soil, Owen landed a job at a small gym in San Diego that focused almost entirely on rehabilitating soldiers; current and past service men. Where they were open to the general public, the gym oversaw a high number of clients training for recruitment, men returned after being injured in the line of duty and servicemen who were no longer active in the military but needed a place of camaraderie. It wasn’t entirely Owen’s element, but it was working for them, for now. He enjoyed the work, the people and supplied a great vault of knowledge for those who needed it. She knew he rather be in the field with animals, working with dolphins or Velociraptors again. That life was over. He swore he was done with his service. Claire didn’t want his life on the line any longer.

Something not quite rock, but close too was playing when she stepped inside, eyes casting out over the men and women within the facility as she breathed in the sweat filled air looking for her husband.

‘Hey, Claire,’ Bobby, the manager grinned at Claire from behind the small entry desk. She smiled back, greeting the man who’s name had become common in their house. ‘Lookin’ for Owen?’ He asked, and Claire nodded.

‘Is he with a client?’ Bobby nodded, pointing towards the far right corner of the room. She thanked him softly, feeling oddly vulnerable in the open planned gym, machines to one side, other exercise apparatus’ scattered appropriately.

She was too busy thinking about how small she was in such a large space that Claire missed Owen noticing she had arrived. He had gone rigid, standing beside a bench press, client on it as Owen asked the man to stop for a moment. He was trying to catch her eye from across the room as a few people called out to Claire to wave. Her appearance within the gym wasn’t a frequent thing, but enough that a few regulars recognised her when she did arrive. It wasn’t like she was hard to miss. Claire was the only nice smelling thing in that place.

He met her halfway, crossing the room in six large strides, heart pounding in his chest. ‘You okay?’ He couldn’t help but notice she was white as a sheet, her eyes red, tears threatening to fall. Her bottom lip wobbled the second she felt Owen’s hand on her hip, his fingers warm through the fabric of her business skirt. ‘Hey, Claire,’ he held a finger under her chin, trying to catch her eyes. ‘Did the doctor call?’

She nodded, lip practically dropping as she laughed at herself. Claire shook her wrists, arms flopping by her side as she rolled her eyes at her emotional state. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ She whispered, barely managing to get the words out before a sob followed. They were happy tears, overwhelmed tears, and soaked in disbelief. Neither of them thought this would happen that fast.

‘Yeah?’ He asked her, face animated as she dropped her head to his shoulder. Claire nodded. ‘We’re having a baby?’ He asked a little louder, almost shouting as he waited for her confirmation. Claire nodded a second time laughing her positive response before Owen picked her up off her feet. ‘My wife is pregnant!’ He spun her around, voice raised high enough that everyone could hear as she gripped onto him for dear life, face buried against his shoulder to save herself the embarrassment.

The occupants of Owen’s work place grinned, cheers lifting from their lungs as some clapped in celebration. Claire blocked them out, focusing on her husband as her toes touched the mats on the ground and his lips made contact with the side of her face.

‘You’re ridiculous.’ She told him, meeting his eyes with a fond smile. Of course, Owen, her husband who liked to keep things private wanted to shout her news from the rooftops. She could see him over the course of the next several months proudly announcing to everyone who would listen that they were expecting a baby. ‘We probably shouldn’t be announcing it to everyone we know, just yet.’ He nodded, kissing her cheek.

‘You’re amazing.’ She always believed it when it came from Owen’s mouth. Claire struggled with compliments unless she felt them well deserved; Owen always thought she deserved them. She hadn’t done anything yet, her body clinging to the slightest of chemical imbalances was all that had happened, and yet he would have flown to the moon and written her name on the surface just for getting positive on her test.

Claire considered that they might not have been ready for a child, that Owen needed time to settle back into civilian life with his wife before they added a third element. His reaction said everything and Claire couldn’t help but feel content with the idea. This was the right thing to do. They were ready.


	178. #178 - Forbes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire poses for the cover of Forbes Magazine. The image they selected was less than ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t a prompt. But, it’s been sitting around half finished since BDH’s Healthy Living cover came out and idk something made me finish it. 
> 
> (google the Healthy Living cover. It was glorious.)

Gossip spread fast. That wasn’t news to anyone. Claire felt vulnerable to their words suddenly and all at once. This was not how it was supposed to go and frankly if Claire couldn’t feel the embarrassment hot against her cheeks she would have been angry. 

Three weeks ago she posed for a cover shoot for Forbes. They were supposed to be doing an exclusive on female executives. Claire wasn’t the only one photographed or interviewed, but she was the only one sexualised on the front cover. The photographer was trying to get her to let loose, wardrobe there to help change the clothes they had given her. She had taken the blouse off, her bra going with it leaving Claire in a black blazer and tailored trousers. It had to be _that_ image they chose. Over everything, they went for the one where she was most exposed. 

She had worn a dress, not unlike things she owned, sheer black floating to the floor, the bodice was cut in a deep v, plunging down her chest and separating only _just_ keeping her breasts in place. The blazer and trousers were no different and yet Claire felt betrayed in that image. It wasn’t her. She worked at her appearance for years, proving herself as a business woman before sex object. 

_Executives in Heels_. 

What a joke. She should have seen it coming; all they wanted to do was make fun of her. Apparently, they wanted to put her down for being a woman in power who worked twice as hard as everyone else. She should have known better than to accept the offer and now her name was being whispered across the park. 

‘It’s really not that bad.’ Zara tried to comfort her boss with a small grimace. I don’t think anyone’s even going to see it.’ She tried again, but that comment was mute. Claire had already heard the long whistles from her coworkers. The men were leering, leaning into her as she walked past and muttered things between themselves. She wanted their voices out of her head. It had been a few hours, and Claire could feel her control slowly slipping away. ‘God, didn’t you feel empowered at the time?’ Zara asked, slight giggle in her tone as she looked over the cover once more. 

She had, in the smallest of ounces. That had been the point of the exercise; to make her comfortable. It had worked until she saw it on the cover that morning. Her heart was still in her stomach, fingers toying with the phone on her desk before she picked it up without a word and dialled a number without thinking. 

Zara didn’t leave. She remained halfway between Claire’s desk and the door as she clutched a copy of the magazine in her hands. She was trying her best to defuse Claire before they were caught in an email war between Claire’s dignity and a magazine that wasn’t going to recall the print. 

‘Bobby?’ She asked into the line, one hand holding the phone to her ear while the other rubbed at her temple. Claire couldn’t look away from her own smouldering eyes caught in print and hidden behind more make-up than she usually wore. She _liked_ the picture. Claire just wished it wasn’t there for the whole world to see. ‘Hey, it’s Claire.’ She paused, eyes rolling slightly as Zara assumed the man had commented about Forbes. ‘I have a favour to ask.’ Claire was exasperated, moving the subject along. ‘How quickly can you take the magazine off shelves?’ Bobby was their gift shop supplier. Anywhere merchandise and off island products could be purchased; Bobby was in charge. 

His chuckle made Claire reach for the loud speaker, turning it on as she put the handheld down. ‘ _They’re all gone, Claire._ ’ He told her, voice laced with humour. ‘There’s not been a copy available to purchase on island since 11am.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ 

‘They’re all gone, love. I’d retract ‘em if I could, but they’re gone.’ Claire dropped her head to her desk unprofessionally grovelling as she sighed, sound long and low emptying her lungs. She wanted the world to swallow her whole. ‘You know,’ Bobby started, chuckle ringing through Claire’s office. ‘I’ve never had anything sell _that_ fast.’ It only added insult to injury, the dread sinking lower in Claire’s gut as she _begged_ the universe to open a black hole right where she stood. She hung up on Bobby with a small thanks despite the fact that he didn’t help. 

Claire worked too hard for her reputation to fall to this. There was an email from Simon Masrani commending her on a great article and superb advertising for Jurassic World. He had seen past her skin on display, but it was followed by countless other unwanted emails in her inbox soaked in crude comments and unwanted advancements. Honestly, what world did she live in? Claire had been confident that a magazine cover would earn her credos in the office as a powerhouse capable of donning power suits and high fashion. Now, all her coworkers could think or talk about was the creamed curve of her breasts and the three small freckles that sat between them. She wasn’t going to be able to get this image out of their heads for months. No matter what she wore or how she presented herself it was all going to come back to that revealing image.

She was drafting an email to Forbes when something heavy hit the floor of her office, dragging Claire’s eyes towards the sound and the man it came from. Owen was standing in the middle of the room, two boxes at his feet. ‘Not today, Owen.’ Claire held up her hand, dismissing him before he had the chance to open his mouth. She didn’t have the energy, not to listen to his terrible attempts at flirting as his eyes devoured her from across the room. Any other day but today. 

‘Thought you’d want these.’ He kicked at the boxes with his boot, shrugging softly as he moved to leave the room. ‘You’re welcome. Have fun burnin’ ‘em or whatever.’ He shuffled towards the door not letting himself leave until she acknowledged his presence more than a dismissal. 

Claire’s head shot up from her computer screen, intense green eyes burning holes in the side of his head. ‘What?’ Her body was rigid, shoulders caught in a straight line. 

‘Look, you probably like to think I don’t know much about you. But, I know enough to understand even _you_ wouldn’t want those sitting around the island for just about anyone to look at.’ He left, fingers hooked in the belt loops of his chinos as Claire scrambled for the boxes. 

She dropped to her knees inelegantly in her skirt, fingernails pulling at the cardboard until it popped open, Forbes Magazine staring back at her. Claire couldn’t help the grin that burst across her cheeks, heart retrieving itself from the depth of her gut as she pushed herself up into a stand. She followed Owen, seeking him out on a familiar path. 

‘Owen!’ She caught him, small fingers sliding around his wrist just as he was about to step onto the elevator. He looked at her, wide eyes watching her fingers before he raised them to meet her gaze. ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated before moving herself forward, hugging him briefly. Claire couldn’t think of any other way to thank him. Impulse drove her forward, twitching at her fingertips as she slid her touch across his broad shoulders. ‘Really.’ She caught his eye. ‘Thank you.’ 

Owen shrugged, not moving away from her as he looked slightly stunned. ‘It’s all of ‘em. Or at least, what hadn’t been picked up before I caught wind of it.’ He took a step back, thick finger jabbing at the elevator call button. ‘Two-hundred n’ somethin’ units.’ He nodded to her office. He had bought _two hundred_ copies of the same magazine; for her because he _knew_ she wouldn’t like the idea of herself published in that way. 

Claire didn’t have time to collect herself before he stepped into the open elevator and jabbed at the button to close the door. 

‘Claire, Walter’s on the phone.’ Zara’s voice pulled her away, a small frown on the woman’s face as she watched Owen disappear. 

[…]

Her Mercedes crunched along the dirt path that led to his bungalow, the sun setting across the lake as she put the vehicle in park and turned it off. Claire had no idea if he would be there or not. Like her, Owen was a workaholic, his hours at the Raptor Paddock were unplanned and nowhere near predictable. Often, he was there from dusk till dawn, reportedly sleeping on the couch in his portable build office or taking micro naps on the catwalk. She had _hoped_ he would be at his bungalow that night. 

Owen didn’t disappoint. The fly screen door creaked open softly as Claire climbed out of her car,the man stepping out of his makeshift home to watch her. 

‘What do you want now?’ He called out to her, door crashing shut as he stood with hands on his hips. 

Claire grinned, revelling in a warm breeze that brushed against her bare arms, jacket still in the car as she tried for casual. ‘You suggested that I maybe burn those magazines. You’re the only person I know who has an open fire on the island.’ That was a lie. There was a bar just past the aviary, a _night spot_ for on island guests that boasted being near the beach with summer vibes all year round. They nightly held a bonfire for guests. ‘And I wanted to thank you, properly, for what you did.’ She grunted, pulling one of the boxes towards her hips as she pulled her shoulders back and carried the heavy item towards his picnic bench. She smacked it down, grinning at the sound as she dusted off her hands and turned to him. ‘There’s a bottle of tequila in the car.’ She told him, eyes following the man who moved to the boot of her car to collect the last box effortlessly. Claire didn’t think the weight was distributed evenly; he had to have picked up the lighter box. 

‘You reconsidering that?’ He asked about the tequila, raising a brow at her as he stopped mere inches from her hip, his box joining hers on the table. 

Claire chuckled, hair dancing around her jaw as she shook her head. ‘I just knew you liked it.’ She had it stored in her office ready for a plea bargain with the man or a Christmas gift if she felt he had been particularly good that year. ‘I want to pay you back for the magazine’s too.’ The issue was roughly eight dollars a copy. If he bought over two hundred, Owen would have set himself back well over a grand. Claire couldn’t let him do that. 

He shrugged it off; it was no biggie. ‘Consider it a favour.’ 

‘For what?’ 

‘Getting the boys at the paddock to shut up. I couldn’t stand hearin’ ‘em talk about you _all_ mornin’.I didn’t like it. They needed to stop droolin’ and —’ He stopped. She was looking at him funny, head tilted to the side, face undecided if she was offended or compelled. ‘ — start learnin’ some respect.’ 

Claire grinned, bright smile bursting with teeth as her eyes glimmered in the dying light. ‘Owen Grady, were you protecting my honour?’ She asked with a leer, leaning into him slightly as her shoulder brushed his forearm. 

He stepped away, hand scrubbing through his hair as he immediately started fiddling with the fire pit. ‘Ah, more like protectin’ myself from getting a raggin’ hard on in front of my crew.’ His look was sheepish, Owen well aware that he shouldn’t have said it as a flush crept across Claire’s cheeks. She wasn’t mad. Her eyes weren’t burning a fire hotter than hell, and her hand hadn’t collided with his cheek in a swift smack. Maybe they would be okay. Owen shook his head, ‘I don’t like hearing people talk like they think they _know_ you, Claire. Like they have a _right_ to talk about your body.’ He met her eyes for a moment. ‘I drove from the paddock and back to every gift shop on the island in the hopes of snatchin’ up every damn copy before any of those corporate types thought they had a right to even breathe your name.’ 

Owen Grady was a caveman, plain and simple. Claire had always suspected but hadn’t confirmed it until now. Territorial to the bone he felt he had some claim over her, one he never boasted about but called upon in the strangest of ways. She felt her heart melt a little at the thought of him racing against the clock to buy out every last copy. 

‘I mean, why’d you have to wear that?’ He got up, fire staring to build, red flames as intense as her hair licking up blocks of wood as Owen pulled open the box and flashed the magazine at her.

Claire bit her lip. ‘I enjoyed it at the time.’ She told him with a cocky smile bright enough to rival his. If she could walk through the walls of control wearing that suit duo without the shirt; Claire would. But, that wasn’t her life. She had spent enough time in her career proving that she didn’t sleep with anyone to get where she was, she didn’t need her office thinking she was easy or that they could speculate on her sexuality due to the image on the page. ‘I _really_ enjoyed it.’ Her eyes cased over the cover again, marvelling in her ruffled hair flowing down one side of her front as her bangs were swept across her face. The red wine lip was something Claire hadn’t done in an age, so unused to the gothic of it all. She felt a little lost in her own skin at the time until Claire stepped behind the monitor and saw the image. 

Owen flicked it towards the building fire, glossed paper catching in green light. He threw in two others in quick succession, before turning back to her. ‘Want a beer?’ He asked, and Claire nodded softly. He was gone a minute, Claire adding another issue of Forbes to the fire, watching the orange flames flicker in green and yellow, small voice in the back of her head telling her not to burn too many at once. 

She couldn’t believe Owen. Well, she could, he was unpredictable in that way. Of course, he, of all people on the island, ran around to protect her image without consulting her first. He had been right on the money; she was mortified and in desperate need of saving — not that she would admit that to him. 

‘Thank you.’ She whispered, eyes barely meeting his as she accepted the cold glass bottle Owen handed her. ‘You really saved my day.’ She wasn’t talking about the beer. He had been unselfish, putting herself before anything else. Claire didn’t quite understand _why_ but she could respect it none the less. 

Owen sat, knees spread on a log set up around the fire pit, the sun dipping below the Earth far enough that the expanse of his property had grown dark. The fire was warming his face in an orange glow, Claire suddenly shivering at the loss of light. She gathered a few issues in her hand before sitting beside him, inches between them.

‘I’m the only one who’s allowed to bother you.’ She would have used the words _sexually harass_ if she could muster up the feelings to be annoyed by him. The truth of the matter was, no matter how much Claire hated sexual advances coming from men, it had been different with Owen. He knew his boundaries, knew to respect her; it had come a sort of inside joke between them. Or, so she considered. She barked a laugh, trying to muffle it around a mouthful of her drink as Owen shrugged. ‘I don’t like other guys thinking that you could be _theirs_. Especially those idiots over at the paddock, they’re not even worth a second of your time.’ 

‘And you are?’ She asked, softly, leant forward as she tilted her head to read his face. 

Owen shook his head. ‘Hell no, but you’re here aren’t you?’ It always baffled her how confident he could be and how shy. Owen liked to play the game but never thought he had a chance at winning. That was why Claire liked him, why she tolerated his terrible jokes and constant innuendo. He didn’t believe it would get him anywhere but a little camaraderie.

‘I am here.’ Claire nodded. ‘Because you, unlike anyone else, _are_ worth my time.’

‘That’s not what you said when I was in your office this afternoon.’ He slid an issue off her lap and flicked it towards the flames. 

Claire rolled her eyes, purely for herself because the man wasn’t looking. ‘When it comes to a professional setting; I think we’re both pretty different people. You drive me up the wall … but, personally? I think you’re a fantastic man who went out of his way to protect me today.’ Owen scoffed softly. She didn’t know the half of it. His knuckles were still aching from punching one of his handlers in the face. He wasn’t going to tell her about that. ‘I’d like to see more of that Owen.’ Their eyes locked. 

‘Yeah, and I want more of that Claire.’ He tapped at the magazine in her lap. He wanted the carefree, sexy Claire with her smouldering eyes and no care, at the time, for who was looking at her. He wasn’t going to put himself wholly on the line if she didn’t give anything back. The move he made that day was purely selfless. He was going to go mad if every handler and his mate showed Owen the cover one more time and joked about going home to the image and their hand. He’d bought back every single copy that was floating around the Raptor Paddock. He was going to be fighting off that reputation for months. Alpha going full Hulk in order to protect his crush. 

Claire nodded, it was a fair statement. ‘You can have her.’ She told him bluntly, Owen’s neck almost snapping as he turned to look at her fully. ‘I want to be vulnerable with you.’ He was the only person, since her childhood, that made Claire feel safe and protected even when her back was turned. ‘But, it’s a give and take.’ Owen nodded eagerly, ready to shoot himself in the leg if she asked, sob story already burning the back of his throat if she wanted proof of vulnerability. He wanted to give it to her, heart, body and soul. She was willing to accept and return herself in favour. 

She leant forward, kissing the corner of his mouth softly, smelling of vanilla tinged in musk. ‘Who said chivalry was dead?’ She smiled, neck craned back, mouth bare inches from his as her green eyes swam in his. 

Owen chuckled. ‘Certainly not me.’ He grinned, voice low in their proximity, fire crackling in front of them. Chivalry got him _everywhere_ he wanted. 


	179. #179 - Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: can you write a Clawen fic about them helping each other and cleaning each other's wounds after the incident?

She was trying to put it all behind them. Hours free of their ordeal, her nephews safely on a flight back to Madison under the watchful eye of their parents. There was no need to survive anymore. No one to look out for. Nothing to fight and fear beyond the nightmares that were sure to climb into her psyche.

Claire followed Owen to his room quietly, weary, innocent and unwilling to be alone as the door clicked shut behind them. He promised survival, and for the first time in her life, Claire was clinging to the words of someone else's promises. She didn’t want to find herself sitting in an empty room left alone with her thoughts.

He let her have the first shower, leaving the bathroom door open after he splashed his face, towel in hand as he quietly insisted she needed to get cleaned up. She accepted the hot water that fell in thick rivets across her skin, sharp and pleasant in contrast to their day. The world made sense in that large shower cubical, the room quiet around her, reverberating the sounds of the water falling off her skin as Claire scrubbed at her forearms, her legs and her chest desperately moving to remove the grime from her skin and the fear from her bones.

They still didn’t have any clothes. The girls at reception scrounging up a shirt each and a pair of men’s XXL sleep shorts. Owen accepted both items, Claire only taking one with a small shrug. There was no way she was keeping those shorts on her hips. You could only roll down a waistband too many times before the crotch got in the way. She could live in a t-shirt for a few hours until the hotel managed to get all its emergency guests organised. Besides, Claire felt selfish accepting an item she wouldn’t use. There were too many others in need because of her, because neither she nor Simon Masrani made the call to evacuate in time.

Owen had his back to the bathroom door when she stepped out, hair wet, t-shirt falling to the tops of her thighs. He was shrugging his shirt off his shoulders, sharp hiss slipping past his lips as the fabric pulled from his sweaty skin. She didn’t mean to look, to stare as he removed his clothes but the distinct colour of blood kept her eyes on the thick planes of his back. He had been scratched, bad, talon marks thick and full across his tight muscles, bleeding again now that his shirt had pulled away from the beginnings of a scab.

‘Careful,’ Claire breathed, stepping forward quickly as the tips of her fingers brushed against his bicep. ‘You need to —‘ he jumped at the contact of her fingers, taking a step away from her before he turned, visibly calming. ‘— be careful.’  He nodded, thanking Claire for her warning silently as she helped slide his shirt off his arms, careful of the tiny scrapes and bare bruises that barely fazed him. She was delicate, kind, near fragile only a few inches away from him, a whole foot and a half shorter now that her heels were officially gone, kicked into the corner of the room that held a small trash can. With Claire in close proximity, Owen felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability not just within him but radiating from her in a thick wave of warm air and the smell of hotel shampoo. He would never have let himself feel that way before, fears creeping into the back of his mind, but she was open and scared, and he felt an obligation to show her the same doors were open within him. He fought all day to protect her and yet she saved his ass more times than he could count. There was no use of false bravado, no need to keep up the walls of over protective male. She understood that he laid his life down for her, and for her nephews. There was nothing else they needed to say.

His shirt hit the floor, Claire was careful with  _him_  and not it. He thought she would step away then, put some space between them now that she had freed him from his shirt. Instead, Claire hesitated, breathing for a few moments, a hand on his bicep, the other lingering on his hip her touch barely noticeable until she leant in, forehead resting against his bare pectoral before her lips made contact with his skin. ‘Go shower.’ She dismissed him, pushing at his hip as she pulled away. Owen didn’t even sway, body rigid beside hers as the smell of gasoline wafted back to his nose, still slick against his skin.

Claire had her back to him, fiddling with her phone and the wall charger they were provided when Owen reached a hand out and locked it around her arm. He stepped towards her, rather than pulled her back, Claire moving to meet him as she felt the warm expanse of his chest press against her shoulder blades. His grip squeezed her arm, reassuring himself with touch rather than sight that she was still there. He did as she had done, lips pressed to the top of her head, damp hair smelling of a floral concoction that was very  _un-Claire_.

Owen pulled away, he didn’t need to be told to shower twice. He just had to make sure she was still breathing under his touch.

He showered without touching the hot tap, letting his body be assaulted by ice cold shards as he hissed loud enough for Claire to hear on the other side of the door. The water and his wounds didn’t mix well, gasoline sliding off his body with the use of bland soap as it stung in his open cuts. Owen could almost hear her at the door, this surprising version of Claire who was caring and considerate, putting him before herself, quietly asking if he was okay. She didn’t call out and all the same, he had hoped he wasn’t loud enough for her to hear.

He was going to have to shower over and over for days, scrubbing his skin raw just to get the gasoline off his skin and out of his system. But, for now, Owen was too tired. He wanted off of his feet and onto that large bed with a promising mattress. He wanted to sleep, Claire warm behind him, gentle breeze blowing in from the balcony as he let his mind  _rest_  after everything they had been through.

She was sitting on the bed when he reappeared, first aid kit open beside her, small hands pawing through the contents and plucking out what she thought she needed. Claire only raised her eyes to look at him when he stepped onto the carpet, adding his clothes to her pile of things she wanted to be burnt.

Silently, Claire told Owen to sit. He did, taking a position on the floor in front of her, as her soft fingers eagerly pulled away at his shirt. Owen didn’t know why he even bothered to put it on, probably out of modesty, when he was aware that she was trying to be attentive to his battle wounds. Frankly, he had worse, and the last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded at any longer. He let Claire do what she wanted, the woman behind him applying an antiseptic cream to the talon marks on his back, hesitating whenever he hissed in pain. She pulled at his arms when she was done, checking for anything wide enough to get infected, finding a few scrapes on his elbows before she moved to kneel beside him.

Claire was applying cream to a cut on his thigh when his fingers slid around her forearm, making the woman still. ‘You, ah, got a scratch.’ It was more than that, the whole underside of her elbow was red, cut up and raw as Owen tried to pinpoint where she got it. It didn’t matter any as he squeezed a generous amount of antiseptic cream onto his fingers and started to apply it with a gentle touch. Claire stopped what she was doing, sitting back on her knees as he attended to her, his eyes watching her skin attentively. ‘What?’ He asked, voice more demanding than he intended as Claire jumped like a frightened mouse.

She shook her head. ‘Thank you.’ Owen shrugged, she did it for him. Claire wouldn’t meet his eye, the controlling career woman melting in front of him to a quiet little girl. He knew she held the potential for being exposed and vulnerable and he knew it had nothing to do with how little she was wearing or what they had been through. If called upon, right now, Claire would walk into a boardroom as is and command respect; she would get it. It was Owen she was letting her guard down for, letting him see in on a moment she would usually have internally.

‘It’s nothin’,’ Owen shrugged again, leaning forward as his hand slid around one of her thighs and the other settled on the small of her back. He pulled her into his lap slowly, unashamed but careful. Claire didn’t protest. Instead, she wiggled until she was comfortable, distributing her weight between her knees evenly as she settled on his lap. Her fingers curled against his chest, nails gentle on his skin. ‘You saved my ass today.’ He told her as she dropped her forehead to his. He pecked the corner of her mouth, a quiet thank you he was starting to realise she was letting him reap.

‘You helped me when no one else would.’ Truth be told, she couldn’t accredit him for saving her nephews. The boys had returned to Jurassic World’s Main Street on their own, and Owen beyond that point only kept an eye on them. Claire had been the one to save the day, and she was starting to accept that. Owen wrapped his arm around her waist, covering the width of her as he pulled her closer, his other hand sliding against her cheek as his eyes met hers.

‘Always.’ He wasn’t sure that he would have helped anyone else. Claire was Claire, no torch shone brighter than the one he held for her. He lost his girls that day, all of them, Blue the only who got the chance to walk away. There was a big part of him grieving for his creatures but as Claire’s lips met his, soft, warm and impatient he couldn’t help but be glad he was on her team when Jurassic World fell apart.  

There was no direction beyond this. No guarantee that life would go back to how it was, comfortable and controllable, but he had Claire and despite everything he lost; he wasn’t letting her go.


	180. #180 - Charlie and Daddy's Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @mrsquill : When Owen's tucking Charlie into bed one night; she asks about his scars, and/or tattoos. (Bonus: he gets totally soppy about her mom, and: yeah, you guessed it. Claire's in the hallway, listening to the whole thing).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3.5 weeks until my thesis is due to be submitted. Get excited all. I can finally play video games and binge watch guilt free (which is never fun). Read: more ways to avoid all the fics I haven’t finished. 
> 
> This is an extremely early birthday present for Amelia. There should hopefully be heaps more to come!

The girls were in bed. Elliot asleep in her own room rather than snuggled between their sheets as Charlie finally slipped into dreamland after three books. Claire was in the ensuite dressed in a red lacy number Owen was sure he hadn’t seen since before they conceived Elliot. She had surprised him, albeit caught a little off guard when he returned from Charlie’s room faster than Claire anticipated, her husband's large hands sliding up her legs as he peppered kisses between her shoulder blades.

She was already purring at his touch, Owen growling against her neck the two of them ready for what their silent night was promising. He didn’t want to admit that the baby monitor was on, sitting next to their bed on the side table or that he promised Charlie — like he did every night — that he was only down the hall if he needed. They, as adult parents of two children under six, just  _hoped_  no one would interrupt them.

Claire was putty in his hands, sweet and gentle, innocently thinking they had hours to devour the other while their children slept. It was the lingerie that made his heart race and his hands move with a purpose. Owen  _loved_  it, the sight and feel of his wife in intricate little pieces reserved for his eyes only. But, he always felt a rush, a surge under his finger tips and in his loins to bury himself as deep as he could within her.

Claire grinned like the Cheshire cat in the bathroom mirror, her eyes meeting his in the glass as he bit down on her shoulder. Her hand was gentle in his hair, tender, sweet and comforting; the exact same move she used on their children as a soft reassurance. She was a minx, a tease, the love of his life.

‘Daddy?’ He felt his heart sink, Charlie’s voice reaching out to them beyond her body as she stood out of sight. He kissed his wife’s neck mournfully as he pulled away from her, tugging his shirt over his head as he tossed it in her direction. It was playful mood, a promise that he would be back. She caught it, winking as she turned back to the basin and whatever it was she had been doing before he walked in on her.

‘I thought you were supposed to be sleeping?’ He met his daughter in the open space of the master suite, doors wide open when he was sure he had only left one ajar. At six, Charlie knew she couldn’t just burst into their space — not that it stopped her — but she knew to stop a few steps beyond the doors and call out before letting herself in. She had done as much this night, playing with the large double doors that belonged to her parent's bedroom in her wait.

Charlie nodded, yes, she was supposed to be asleep. Long gone to the world of the living until the sun rose to tickle her cheeks. ‘I’m thirsty.’ She told him with wide green eyes, batting her lashes as Owen sighed. He scooped her up, two hands onto one arm as the girl laid her head upon his shoulder.

He didn’t put her down on the counter when they reached the kitchen. Instead, Owen kept Charlie on his hip, handing the girl a teal plastic cup from Claire’s rainbow collection of kid appropriate drink and dinner wear. She sipped her water slowly, almost slurping it right next to his ear until she was done. Charlie handed the cup back wordlessly, her eyes tired in the metallic light of the kitchen long after the sun had set.

‘All ready to sleep now?’ He asked, brushing the red hair out of Charlie’s face as the girl nodded. She was exhausted, her body heavy in his arms as her head barely moved from his shoulder. He didn’t know why she fought it so much, refusing to let her eyes close for the well-needed rest her body deserved. They tried to explain this to her, Owen and Claire, talking about the complexities of sleep helping the body rejuvenate itself. Charlie listened, the best she could, she took their words on board, but there were still nights she didn’t want to close her eyes. Owen could respect that. He didn’t want to sleep sometimes, be it nightmares or an admiration growing so strong in his chest he rather miss sleep than losing time watching his babies snooze.

Charlie was tucked easily between sky blue sheets and her navy gingham duvet, her hair falling to her pillow before her head as she wrapped her arms tightly around Owen’s neck. ‘C’mon, baby, time for bed.’ He eased her grip from him, breaking his heart as he did so. He knew she was only going to sleep, that he wasn’t leaving her, but the feeling was there regardless.

‘What’s that?’ Charlie asked, little fingers poking at the snake that ran up his arm and over his shoulder. She hadn’t tried this game before. He explained the tattoo to the girl easily, black and white swirling in scales as the creature twisted and turned against his muscles. It was ironic how much it resembled his Raptors. At the time, they were nowhere near a thought in his mind, the ink on his skin marking the first stint in a private squadron. Now, the reptile with it’s broad and flat head stood as a reminder of the creatures he lost. ‘What about that one?’ Her fingers poked at his ribs.

‘They’re called roman numerals.’ He explained, promising the girl he would teach her in the morning.

‘What’s it for?’ She asked, not letting him leave. Owen sighed heavily, dropping his weight back onto her bed as he gave her leg a squeeze.

‘Its for your birthday, the lines are very old numbers. 17.’ He pointed to the first four symbols, XVII, a finger sliding down to the identical one below it. ‘9. For September.’ His finger slid back up to the second lot; IX. ‘2016.’ The last five figures; MMXVI. It sat in thick lines, horizontally resting across his ribs. It was neat, standing a few inches high on each set, stark against his skin holding as a subtle reminder of the mark his daughters had on his life. He needed a memento only weeks after Charlie was born, something that promised her to him forever no matter what happened. Elliot followed on habit as would any child that came after. Charlie hummed quietly, the same sleepy sound she always made just before she gave in to her eyes closing.

‘This one?’ She asked, small hand squeezing his forearm right where his bicep met. The tattoo there was small, covered by her hand in the moonlight. It was an insignificant mark on his skin, nothing that held meaning beyond his military experience.

‘That’s my blood type.’ AB+ tattooed right below the inside of his left elbow. It was an identification marker, in case anything happened and the rest of him was unidentifiable. Claire had asked once if that been the point of the military issued dog tags Owen had in the bedside table. He had kept one tag around his neck in the Marines and a second on his boot laces until he was sent on a Special Operations mission that held potential capture risk. Owen’s superiors didn’t want his men to be identifiable to the enemy. Once home, Owen kept the tags in his sock drawer, never in need of them until Charlie found them while helping her Nana put the laundry away. He gave her the one he wore around his neck, the tag on a smaller chain remained in the bedside dresser for Claire whether she wanted to admit it was needed or not. When he rejoined a year ago, Owen clumsily admitted he lost the items he had been told to guard.

‘Why?’ She asked, eyes closed, head turned away from him.

Owen shrugged, he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. Not when she was fighting sleep. ‘It’s something grown-ups do.’

‘Mama doesn’t have one.’ She squeezed his arm again. She was right. She didn’t argue with him further. Instead, her little hand tapped his bare chest right over his heart. A compass. That had been there almost as long as Charlie’s birthdate. He couldn’t remember what came first. Charlie or Claire. The idea had indeed circumvented in his mind beforehand, but he was somewhat sure the tattoo came after Charlie’s.

‘That one’s a compass, it's for your mom.’ He told her quietly, hand brushing over her cheek, thumb stroking against the freckles on her nose. He heard her quiet ‘ _How_?’as he checked the time on his watch, knowing he’d been with the girl for thirty minutes and her bedtime had been two hours ago.

Slumping further against Charlie’s mattress, Owen made himself comfortable. ‘It’s for your Mom because she’s my waypoint. My way home. She’s North on every compass no matter where I am. Y’know, kiddo, when I first saw your mom I was fiddling with a compass. I had this real old one my dad gave me before I enlisted. I’d lost it for a bit and just gotten it back. It was broken, had been broken for a little while. I was trying to fix it when she walked past. The last piece went in place, the compass pointed north, and when I looked up your Mom was standing outside my office watching me. She smiled that day. Actually smiled, that same smile she does when you tell her you love her.’ Charlie nodded in understanding. Dozing against his broad hand. ‘You find North, Charlie, and you’ll always find home.’ Maybe he was incorporating a little Peter Pan into his sleepy daughter’s lessons, but there was no promising she would remember any of it in the morning. Confident she was losing her grip on wakefulness, Owen leant down to kiss his daughter’s cheek, whispering good night against her ear as he readied himself to part her bedroom.

Charlie surprised him like she learnt from her mother; keeping him on his toes. Her small hands grabbed his cheeks, fingers running over his stubble as her right hand fiddled with something on his cheek. ‘What happened to your face, Daddy?’ It was the smallest of physical flaws on his body, a collection of light scars on his left cheek. He was sure he had explained it to her before, a little before he left enough to let it be an issue of her concern. She liked feeling his rough skin, shrapnel cutting into his face and leaving chunky silver marks on his face, one cutting into the stubble on his jaw leaving a bare patch.

Owen shook his head, ‘You’ve had enough stories tonight, kiddo.’ He kissed her cheek again, pulling away as his large hands squeezed her wrists softly. Charlie didn’t fight him, sleep making her agreeable as she smacked her lips and settled deeper into the comfort of her bed.

He hesitated at her bedroom door, waiting for a beat to see if the girl would change her mind and call out for him. She didn’t. Her body still beneath her blankets as he slipped out of the room and closed her door over. It was still a habit Owen was developing, learning to stop a second time as he waited by the door of Elliot’s nursery listening for any cries in her sleep before he concluded that both girls were  _finally_  out for the night.

Returning to his bedroom, tired but eager to see his wife and her red number again, Owen found the space dimly lit. The bathroom light was still on, everything else off as Owen sought his wife out in the quiet room. She was as he expected; curled on her side in the middle of their bed, wearing the t-shirt he threw at her earlier. The fabric was bunched around her thigh, still giving him a sneak peek at the lingerie she wore and the perfect round curve of her ass. Clearly, Claire had been too tired to wait up. He couldn’t help the smile despite his sinking disappointment. He loved them. Life surprising Owen more than he realised in his daughters and his wife.

He brushed his teeth quickly, flicking off the bathroom light as he tucked his wife beneath the duvet and curled himself in next to her. There would always be another night, where Charlie would go down without a fight and Elliot wouldn’t insist on sleeping in their bed with her big green eyes of persuasion.

Charlie hadn’t reached every tattoo and scar on his body, but the ones she chose to question that night warmed his soul just as much as she did. Filling his life like the ink on his skin His family; his daughters, his  _wife._ Owen had never been one to consider himself lucky. Curled around his wife, daughters peacefully sleeping in their own beds, he couldn’t help but think himself the luckiest man alive.


	181. #181 - First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: "is this your first time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from: five word prompts 
> 
> I could have been way more creative with this prompt ... but I was not. I think you’ll all love this idea way more than something else.

Claire was convinced that she could lie to herself. Force faux confidence to get her through an extremely awkward encounter. To be truthful, she just wanted it over and done with, out of her way so she could move on and forget it had ever been an  _issue_. But, he touched her, and her body betrayed the woman she was trying to be. Claire flinched, jumping a practical foot in the air at the grace of his hand on the inside of her thigh.  

Owen grinned like he knew like he had read every lie on her face, her fingers unfaithful. ‘Is this your first time?’ She bit her lip, nod slow on the edge of her chin. Claire wasn’t shy to an orgasm, there was a vibrator in her bedside cabinet and a few awkward teenage stories of self-discovery. Owen didn’t need to know this. But, she could sense that he  _knew_. She didn’t know what gave her away beyond the flinching or what had condemned him to the thought to ask. He was cocky and over confident, but the question came with mild concern.

He didn’t need to hear how she never let men that close, how their want to dominate her had terrified Claire enough to keep her distance. He was different. There was something about Owen that made her trust him with her life, let alone the socially deemed issue of her virginity. It didn’t bother her, she just didn’t want him to  _know._  Claire didn’t want his awkward, misplaced pity and a pause in their evening to discuss  _why_. She wanted it over and done with, label gone so she could live her life and get over the slight fear that had built itself inside of her.

Her body gave her away. Tension wound too tight under her skin that his first explicit touch made her react in the wrong way.

When Owen Grady asked her on a date several weeks ago, Claire thought it would just be that. A date; dinner someplace nice, casual conversation about their lives, a few drinks and pleasant kiss good night before they parted ways with an unspoken agreement that they were both too different to work. It had gone down well until he asked her for a second, inviting her to his bungalow on the edge of one of Isla Nublar’s many lakes. She knew exactly what Owen’s intentions had been and understood immediately that there was no getting out of it other than flat out turning down his offer. She liked him. Claire couldn’t bring herself to say no. There was something in Owen Grady’s suave attitude that pulled her in every goddamn time he turned a crooked smile her way.

Claire knew Owen had a reputation for being a bit of a bad boy. He was a man in his prime, single, attractive, and according to the women in Control; a sex god. It had surprised Claire when he didn’t pull a move on their first date. Almost offended her until she realised he had some chivalry behind his charm.

The second date, though, the one away from the bustling movement of the public and other patrons in a restaurant. There was no escaping his intentions and romantic candle lit ambience. Owen Grady wanted sex, and Claire was ready for it. She just couldn’t bear the humiliation — and the potential sting of rejection — after she would have to explain it wasn’t exactly an activity she had done before.

Instead, Claire told herself she would  _act_  like she was as much of a sexual being as he was. She could stand in front of board rooms filled with important and wealthy people on days she really didn’t want to be there; Claire could at least pretend she knew how to have sex with another person without being a complete mess. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen porn or steamy movies that almost crossed the line and had their ratings bumped to an R. She knew  _what_ happened and  _how_  but never personally had her body do the dance. That was what scared her. The intimidation of it all. Owen wasn’t exactly a small guy either, he was broad shouldered and thick boned, he had a full foot on her height  _with_  heels on, without she lost another five inches.

‘It’s okay.’ He told her, grin warm and comforting as his hand returned to her knee, Owen smoothing it up her thigh just a little with a gentle squeeze. ‘We don’t have to do this.’ He met her eye, every inch of his being promising a sweet understanding when she could see a flame struggling to go out in his eye. He wanted her. Fingers twitching against her skin, skirt riding up her thighs as she sat on the edge of his bed.

Claire shook her head. She wanted to do this. It was then she realised her hands were trembling, fear radiating in a physical form from her body. Owen, on his knees in front of her, clasped her hands between his larger ones, dwarfing them completely.

‘I want to.’ She told him. ‘I want to.’ The words repeated themselves as she leant down, her face drawing closer to his. Owen nodded, accepting the consent she gave him as he closed the distance with a soft kiss. Five minutes ago he kissed her with a rough passion that set her whole body on fire. She was still tingling from his touch, but this gentle embrace was not what it could have been. ‘Don’t treat me like I’m fragile.’ She whispered against his cheek, eyes shining with a need to hold power. ‘Fuck me.’ The words barely ghosted past her lips, so bare and light Owen almost missed them.

Her permission on his ears, he surged forward, hand sliding thick and strong up the length of her thigh as his lips found the sensitive side of her neck. She whimpered, letting herself go into the feeling no longer holding tight to her other identity.

His left hand squeezed her thigh, fingers digging tight into her bare skin as he pulled himself away from her neck. His forehead found her shoulder, tipped there for a moment as he caught his breath. Right hand sliding down the inside of her leg, before gliding back towards his newfound paradise. ‘I want to take this slow.’ He was panting. Breath caught like he had run a mile as he retreated enough to look her in the eye.

Claire was not in a position to call the shots. She knew what she wanted, him, thick and throbbing between her legs driving her dick first into what damn well better be the best orgasm of her life. She just didn't know what on Earth she should be doing to get him there.

She met his eyes regardless, blue locked with green in a sturdy battle as his fingers flexed against the flesh of her thighs. Claire nodded. Slow. They could do slow. Savouring each kiss and caress. She could let him love her, opening the dusty crevices of her heart to allow him in.

Slow meant intimate, loving, so intense she could already feel the tears burning in her eyes. Claire almost shook her head, hands pushing at his shoulders a request to go home on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she let go and steeled herself against her fears.

Claire nodded. Short. Soft. Her teeth buried in her bottom lip as she watched his face lift into a gentle smile. Owen kissed her cheek, a small thank you, his hands heavy on her thighs as his lips trailed south, pausing momentarily to grace her skin.

The buttons on her satin blouse were fumbled with, each one popping with an easy flick of his fingers as they revealed her smooth skin turning pink. He didn't take too much time to look, only noting the soft pink flowers on sheer tulle of her bra underneath for a second before his lips found the beginning of the valley between her breasts. Claire sat there, head tilted towards the ceiling, imagining the stars above her crown as his hands freed the buttons from their holes before large, callused plains of skin found her softest places. She purred, pushing her chest towards his face as she leant back on his mattress with her elbows. Her eyes returned to him, watching his movements as his lips nipped at her skin, lingering longer with each graze until his teeth nicked her nipple through the sheer tulle of her bra. She hissed, body jolting as she felt Owen’s stubble smile against her breast.

His hands slid up her ribcage as his tongue laved at her breast. Large hands rolled across her shoulders, pushing at the satin of her shirt as it drifted down her arms. She let go of her weight, elbows releasing under her as Claire’s back fell flush with the mattress. Owen’s kisses continued their venture, leaving her skin to burn as he made his way down her stomach, slowly inching her skirt down with each step of his descent. His lips paused at the waistline of her matching underwear, hesitating over the skin there as he looked up, eyes meeting hers.

Claire was dark lust, filled to the brim in a porcelain shell. Her blue eyes were steaming, watching him with avid curiosity as Owen winked, unable to control himself as his fingers nimbly slid her panties down her legs before his head bowed to kiss her centre. She shuddered, whole body, whimper falling from her lips on an easy exhale.

He was gentle until he couldn’t handle it, nips and flicks of his tongue growing intense as he buried his head between her thighs taste of her saturating his mouth. Owen couldn’t believe he had the most powerful woman on the island in his bed and whimpering under his touch. He had reduced her to mewls and pleas, quietly asking for more as her hands found his hair. The trust she had in him soured higher than anything he could have believed, respect shifting under his muscles as his fingers flexed against her skin. There was no moving on from this, no getting over it, she had bestowed him with the highest of honours and that had nothing to do with her virginity.

She tried to pull him up by his hair as her orgasm twitched closer to the edge of a cliff she wasn’t unfamiliar with. Owen wasn’t her vibrator, but the feeling was intense enough that she wanted him to pull away. He didn’t, teeth scraping her clit as he sucked the nub into his mouth and rolled his tongue over it in languid but hurried waves. Her breathing was already laboured, chest rising and falling in a rapid staccato as she panted to the open room.

Owen didn’t let her go until she shrieked, two fingers inside of her feeling the tight clamping of her vaginal walls as her orgasm bared down, snapping and releasing. She was left with a flush that marred her pale skin, a slight stubble rash blushing on the inside of her thigh as Owen climbed her body and the bed.

She grinned at him with hooded eyes when their faces were level, a private, shared between the two, post orgasmic smile that he found addicting the second he saw it. Owen would gladly give his life if it meant seeing that smile again. He kissed the tip of her nose, lips barely meeting her skin in a fond gesture he couldn’t help. Regardless of their naked bodies and current situation; he adored her.  

Her small hand slipped past the elastic of his briefs, strong fingers wrapping around his dick with a confidence that suggested she wasn’t as shy and innocent as he assumed. He didn’t stop her, he couldn’t stop her as soft skin slid up and down in alternating quick and slow strokes. When her loose fist stopped at the head of his dick to focus there, small twists coming from her movements as her thumb stroked him gently, Owen thought he would lose it.

He wasted no time in shoving his briefs down with one hand, the other keeping him propped above her as he kicked away the last of his clothes and positioned himself at the entrance her wet heat. Claire rose to kiss him, locking his lips in a distracting kiss as her small body managed to overpower him, the woman rolling him onto his back as she straddled his hips. He had to fight back the urge to roll them back, regaining his dominance over her before he slid home. Instead, he let Claire have the power, woman towering above him with a self-satisfied smirk chiselled into her cheeks.

Owen made a vow to himself that he would do anything in his power to keep Claire Dearing in his life. There was no coming back from this. He thought he  _liked_  her then, but now, he was in love and awe and worship.

He handed her a condom wordlessly, foil packet already in his hand as she took it with a small  _thank you_. It was the first time, since they started that he saw her nerves return. It had only been five minutes, but she had oozed confidence enough for him to forget that she hadn’t  _done_ this. Her cheeks were rosy, a smile twitching with insecurity as her fingers fumbled with the foil, hips wiggling against his thighs as his erection stood between them, urging her to hurry.

‘Here,’ Owen extended his hand, palm facing the ceiling as he asked for the condom back. Claire surrendered it, flush on her cheeks deepening as she watched his fingers move intensely. He freed the latex from the foil and put the condom on himself as he tried not to buck his hips at the feeling, Claire sitting on his thighs. Owen tossed the foil aside, letting it disappear on the floor or tangle in the sheets of his bed while his hands returned to her hips. ‘Good to go.’ He told her with a wink as Claire lowered herself to kiss him again. Their contact was brief, locking lips in a fierce embrace before she sat tall, lifting herself to stand on her knees as she lowered herself onto his shaft slowly.  

Owen’s eyes jumped from the slight wince pressing across her cheeks to watching her skin slide over his. He didn’t move, cock twitching inside of her warmth, his body hyper aware that they were joined as Claire settled herself down to the hilt. He waited for her. He wouldn’t move until she gave the go ahead, confident that her body was ready before he started thrusting up and into her.

She had closed her eyes somewhere after the first inch of him, chin tilted up as her teeth found purchase in her bottom lip. Her body stretched around him, unused to the girth as she whimpered a little out of pleasure and pain.

Claire only hesitated a minute before she rolled her hips, whimper changing its tone as her hands found purchase against his chest. He watched the look in her eye, far off and unfocused as she tried to keep them open but was struggling. He caught her hair, short bob easily out of her way as it danced with every movement she made. There was a light spattering of freckles on her shoulders he had never seen before, eyes transfixed as he made a note to inspect them closer if he ever got the chance.

Owen wanted to admire her for hours, soaking every detail of her bare skin but the simple fact that Claire was picking up her pace was easily distracting him. He couldn’t hold back the instinct in his muscles to thrust up into her, Owen letting go of his restraint as he did so revelling in Claire’s small squeak of surprise. It had been her show until now, her exploratory adventure and now he wanted to take the reigns. His hands were steady on her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her down on top of him, letting her hips circle against his her body finding her pleasure.

They played a game of finding their rhythm as Claire started to lose her breath, panting again as her eyes fluttered closed, soft grunts too gentle to be given a harsh term lifted from her lips. It only spurred him on, until Owen sat up, arms sliding around her back as his lips claimed her neck again. Claire practically jumped on his lap, riding him as he enveloped her skin, feeling her warm body against his as he tasted the sweat on her skin.

She slipped a hand between their bodies, her knuckles grazing his abdomen as her fingers sought out her clit. He felt her trying to encourage her orgasm, hand brushing his stomach as he thrust in and out of her, spurred on by her hurried moments.

Owen took control, flipping them as he returned Claire to her back, his arms holding him up above her as he peppered kisses down her neck, mouth focusing on her breast once he reached it. His hand battered hers away, replacing small fingers with his large calloused ones as Claire’s hands moved to grip his hair and shoulder blades, fingers digging into his thick skin. He felt her thigh twitch against his hip, ankles locked together on his back as Owen kept his pace brutal, each inward thrust pushing the air out of her lungs as Claire kissed his neck, teeth occasionally biting at his earlobe as she encouraged  _harder_  and  _faster._

He didn’t let go until she did, thumb flicking over her clit one last time before Claire’s hand dropped to her mouth, muffling the cry that wanted to escape. He was gone a thrust after, burying his head against her neck as he rolled them, letting Claire splay across his chest, his flaccid cock still inside her. He pecked her cheek when she lifted her head to grin at him, eyes shining and wet. Owen raised his hands to wipe his thumbs across her cheek, smiling at her fondly as she turned her head away.

She wasn’t crying per se, but the tears were there, bubbling whether Claire liked it or not. She dropped her head to his chest, cheek flush with his right pectoral muscle as she laughed at herself softly. Owen just ran his hands through her hair, body spent and happy to bask in her company.

‘Sorry.’ Claire offered, lifting her head again as she sniffled. Owen shook his head. She didn’t have anything to worry about, in fact, he was a little humbled that she teared up. ‘I feel ridiculous.’ Because of the tears, not him or what they had done. She could still feel her heart beating a little too fast, his steady under her hand as Owen kissed her forehead.

‘You amaze me.’ He told her, still living off the high of his orgasm, body numb, thoughts completely blissed out that he barely noticed what he was saying. Owen meant it. She was brave, smart, strong and sexy as hell. ‘Can I ask why you’ve never … done this?’

‘Control. It’s only ever been about dominating me. The men I’ve been with just wanted me in place, wanted the control, to apply their own restrictions. I never felt comfortable, I could never trust anyone.’ She had gotten as far as a blow job before realising her partner’s hand in her hair was too tight, uncomfortable and when she tried to pull back, he only held her in place, gagging Claire as tears stung her eyes. Under normal circumstances, she was sure she could enjoy it, giving and receiving pleasure but the experience had been tense enough to send her scuttling as far away as she possibly could get. ‘I never felt I needed to be having sex anyway.’ She didn’t think it would ever add anything positive to her life but lying with Owen in post-coital bliss Claire realised she had been wrong. She told him as much, finger swirling through the light patch of hair on his chest, eyes avoiding his.

He wanted to make a cocky comment, a smirk sliding across his cheeks as his sense of self-inflated. Owen held his tongue. ‘I’m glad you felt you could trust me.’ His hand found the nape of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair as he watched her with pure admiration.

He never thought he would care if someone saw him as safe or not. Returning from the military Owen was a bad boy, a risk young women took on nights out that they knew would piss off their Catholic fathers. He was something to be taken advantage off for the thrill of others, and he hadn’t minded at all. They were the same for him, pure women, sweet party girls looking for some fun and the hope of taming a beast. Owen didn’t even think he could be tamed, but that was before he met Claire.

‘You’re trustworthy.’ He was kind and patient and selfless. There were so many different ways this night could have turned out and yet he took the kind path, considerate, loving as his hands graced her skin and his lips eased her fears. He relinquished parts of himself so  _she_  would feel comfortable. Claire wasn’t blind to it. She saw what he gave and what he restrained. Later, when he recuperated, she’d thank him with her mouth and her hands and the allure of her body in a way she had been dreaming about since they first clashed, differences sparring in a heat filled argument.


	182. #182 - To Build a Home: Bernie's Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt.   
> As the title suggests, Bernard Dearing-Grady's birth day.

 

Owen enjoyed solitude. Their Alpine home resided on the outskirts of a quiet community. There was nothing within twenty minutes, and by that point, Claire may as well have driven towards the city for her lunch plans or shopping needs. The city was within reach and so long as it remained that way; Claire could be happy.

It was one of their many compromises. Owen’s a home on substantial land; Claire a dream house not hours from her job.

Despite its semi close proximity from the bustling streets of San Diego, Claire often felt isolated. It was too quiet in Alpine. Owen loved it. No one bothered them out there, the neighbours they did have were kind; the sort that smiled at you in the supermarket or at the gas station. There were a few choice people who kept an eye on Claire while Owen was gone, ensuring life for his wife carried on in his absence. She was none the wiser.

Maternity leave had quickly driven Claire up the wall. Forty-one weeks pregnant and her belly was swollen enough that driving was impossible. She couldn’t walk from one end of the house to the other without exhausting herself, let alone walk the limits of their property. She wasn’t incapable of looking after herself; a fact Claire never let Owen forget. But, things had become harder. The stairs were a no go. His wife had ensured most of her vital possessions were in the downstairs of the house and above hip level for easy access. Bending in the middle was useless, she could barely see her toes let alone get down that low. Claire had to ensure she had everything she needed before sitting, even on the lounge, Owen’s heavy baby in her uterus weighing her down and making the simplest of darks unimaginable.

Whiskey started staying home with her, Owen’s faithful companion sticking by Claire’s side in the last few weeks as her due date neared and passed by a few days, everyone on edge and in wait. It helped Owen from feeling guilty. He didn’t want to leave Claire to her devices for the day not when she was so close to giving birth. It was Claire who pushed him out of the house and towards his job. He needed to work so he could be home when the baby was born. It wasn’t just Owen. She refused help from her siblings and his, Claire turned down his mother’s offer to visit as well as her own, both women desperate to be by her side to aid in any way they could. Claire didn’t want their help, not now, not yet. She was getting increasingly frustrated with herself, and it wouldn’t help if she had an audience to her frustrations.

They could all wait until her stubborn baby was born.

Inevitably, she was home  _alone_  when something in her stomach twinged. San Diego County was preparing for a storm of the likes they hadn’t seen in years. The wind was rattling against the windows already, rain making Whiskey whimper by the door. It was the kind of weather that unsettled her, eleven in the morning and dark outside. It was only a matter of time before the power went out, the phone lines down and communication dead.

She should have called her husband.

Everything in her body  _told_  Claire to call Owen the second she felt the barest warnings of labour. She didn’t, knowing her husband would only race home for a lengthy wait impending their child’s birth. Just because she was feeling things now didn’t mean the baby would be born within the day. Or, so she thought. In Claire’s defence, they had already been through Braxton Hicks, and that was enough to tell her she didn’t want her husband immediately. He was going to hover over every wince she made, questioning her comfort and their need to head to the hospital. Claire was confident with her body, trusting she could wait until the end of the day before alerting Owen.

The universe had a different idea.

Claire’s waters broke just as the storm rolled up to their unfinished home. Whiskey was by the window watching with disinterest as lightning flashed across the yard. She left her spot to pad over to Claire, sniffing at the woman with worry as Claire tried to quell the slight panic in her chest. When she reached for her phone, the connection was dead.

The windows rattled against the wind, sound howling through the empty house as Claire tried to keep herself busy, mind off the contractions that were slowly building. Something in her racing heart told her she wouldn’t make it to the hospital if she tried to drive, the forecast was promising a road risk that Claire really didn’t want to take if she couldn’t get in contact with Owen first. She could have walked to the neighbours, but instead, Claire stayed put, trying to clean up the mess she made in the living room as she intermittently checked her phone for a signal.

[…]

‘I don’t know why you didn’t call an ambulance!’ Owen practically barrelled through the front door, seeking her out with manic eyes, urgency thrumming through his veins. He was as wild as the storm raging on outside.

She managed to reach him six hours after her waters broke, her husband none the wiser of the panic that had taken up permanent residence in her chest. She heard the stress in his voice build as he promised he’d make the thirty-minute drive in fifteen.

‘Why didn’t  _you_  call an ambulance?’ Claire glared at him, arms braced against the kitchen counter as she leant towards it trying to elevate some of the pressure on her hips. He was all for scolding her, for calling him at work instead of seeking medical assistance and yet he could have called for help as he sped through red lights, risking his life to get to her.

Claire was adamant that he would get to her first. Their middle of nowhere home was secluded well enough that calling an ambulance would be for nought. Claire was wrong; her labour pains were progressing fast, contractions hitting her in quick succession one after the other as they rolled across her, every muscle in her body tense.

By the time Owen fell through the door sweat had pebbled on her brow, cheeks red as she struggled to keep up her breathing let alone hold back the heavy pressure in her abdomen telling her to bare down. Even if the ambulance didn’t get there in time, it would be there shortly after.

‘Owen,’ Claire groaned, eyes barely able to focus on the man fluttering in and out of the kitchen. He couldn’t keep still, muttering to himself as he sought out the hospital bag they packed two weeks ago. ‘Owen.’ Claire growled, sharp noise making the man standstill. ‘You need to call an ambulance  _now._ ’ She warned, levelling him with a glare that suggested her urgency. She could feel her body stretching, shifting around the life that was trying to be born as the weight in her centre of gravity dropped.

She didn’t know what compelled her to do it. Centuries of women before her whispering in her ear as she reached a hand between her legs, moving the hem of her dress aside to feel at her labia, body incredibly uncomfortable. There was something there that hadn’t been before, soft and hard all in one, pulsing slightly under the gentle touch of her fingertips. She warbled her husband’s name, trying to keep her voice strong as another contraction bowled over her.

The baby had crowned, Claire’s fingertips on his head only  _just_  inside of her as her husband shouted they would get to the hospital in time. They weren’t going anywhere. If Claire’s body was telling her anything; it was that this was happening right now. She had been told a few months ago that although she wanted a natural, vaginal birth, her son was looking like he was possibly too big to be delivered that way safely. Claire’s first concern was her baby. She didn’t want him stuck, the two of them in pain as the rain pelted down on the roof and Owen continued to be out of service with medical help.

Owen was by her side in a heartbeat, arm around her back as he watched her with deep concern. His eyes were darting between her face and the hand under her dress, terrified she was going to reveal and an unhealthy amount of blood. ‘He’s right there.’ Owen frowned at her. ‘I think I’m going to give birth to our baby in the kitchen.’ She told him with worried eyes, slight humour tickling at the corner of her lips. There was no way Claire was going to make it anywhere else in the house. ‘You really need to call someone, Owen, I don’t know what the  _fuck_ I am doing.’

Owen shook his head. ‘Nah, we’ll make it to the hospital.’ It was denial, plain and simple, nerves taking control of his brain. Claire glared at him, cheeks pink, lips pursed. She shook her head. She wasn’t going to make it to the car let alone hold their baby in until she arrived at a safe facility.

‘How on God’s green Earth do you think that’s going to happen?’ Claire asked through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed closed as she begged her mind to remove itself from the pain in her body and the idiocy of her husband.

‘Keep doin’ that.’ Owen squeezed her forearm, suggesting his wife just  _hold_  their child in until  _he_  was ready to deal with it. She whacked her hand over the side of Owen’s head for the suggestion, not needing the words to tell him he was being ridiculous.

She grabbed his hand, replacing hers between her legs as she urged once again that this was happening. Her son was ready to be born, and nothing was about to stop him. She watched her husband’s breath stutter in his chest, the man near hyperventilation as his hands shook. It baffled her that he was nervous and she could physically feel their child pushing his way into the world.

Owen stepped away from her, low growl rolling into a teeth clenching groan without Claire’s permission as her husband watched her with scared eyes. She only had to glare at him, gazes locked before he jumped into action. He had no sense of purpose, for a man who lead squadron’s of men into battlefields it amused his wife to see him so lost for direction.  

Shaky fingers pulled his phone out of his back pocket, the man pressing a hard kiss against his wife’s temple as he watched her arms strain against the kitchen counter. She could hear the phone ring through the receiver, feet away from her, Claire smiling softly at a thousand memories swirling through her head. She teased that he was going deaf, over and over, every time he was on the phone, device up so loud Claire could hear both sides of the conversation. Owen only shook his head.

He huffed easily, irritated at the device in his hand. The phone lines were still down, storm still mad above their heads. It had been a miracle in and of itself that he managed to get to her without driving his car straight into a muddy ditch. They’d be without power on their secluded block if it weren't for the generator he installed for this kind of emergency. Owen offered his wife a small grimace, apologising as he kissed her cheek again. He muttered something about seeing childbirth in movies and faintly understanding what he would need. Owen just silently prayed nothing went wrong.

Claire let him frantically disappear into the house, claiming something about spare towels and the cupboard upstairs. He put a pot of water on to boil first, coming back to her at intervals to squeeze her hand. She didn’t want him to touch her, to soothe her, to help her. Claire Dearing-Grady wanted her husband out on the road, walking the long street until he reached a zone where the phone lines were still working, or until he stumbled across a couple of EMTs having their dinner break at the town’s small diner. He wasn’t about to brace the weather and leave her home all alone.

Whiskey was keeping her distance. Claire finally noticing the dog as Owen nearly tripped over her, the man apologising, hand gracing the animal’s head as she gave Claire a worried look. ‘Keep an eye on her.’ Owen told her, not entirely a command as Whiskey shuffled herself into the kitchen but remained a few feet away.

The pain was surreal. Claire kept trying to focus on the outcome of all this strain. She would be holding her baby in her arms in a matter of time, something in her head told her  _soon_. He had already crowned, her body stretching beyond normal limits as every voice in her head tried to keep her calm. Claire kept to shouting Owen’s name at her most painful moments, body working with her child to deliver him safely but against her comfort. What was she thinking when she suggested this? Claire was sure she had been lulled into that warm bath and Owen’s hearty touch too heavily to even think about the pain of childbirth. There was no reward that was going to make up for this. Not in Claire’s opinion, anyway.

Owen was gone minutes, she could hear him yelling at himself, trying to get the phones to work as he sought out the spare towels, Claire mentally praying he didn’t grab the good,  _expensive_  ones they reserved for themselves and when his parents came to visit.

She couldn’t hold on any longer, every instinct in her body told her to push, brutal sound forcing its way passed her pursed lips as she called out for Owen in a desperate need for assistance.

[…]

The house wasn’t finished.

That thought kept swirling in his mind. The master, the ensuite, the kitchen the nursery; they were finished. The important things he and Claire  _needed_  to get by. His wife was in labour, and he hadn’t managed to finish the house they bought close to  _four years_  ago. The laundry still in disarray, barely functioning enough for them to wash the mounds of baby clothes they had accumulated in the months anticipating their sons’ birth. For the time being, a closet in the guest room upstairs was acting as the linen cupboard, storing spare bedsheets and towels. It was the towels Owen needed, well aware of his wife shouting downstairs; the both of them on a short timer.

He could hear Claire in every corner of the house, heart in his throat as she cried out in agony, cursing his name with every new breath she took in. By the time he found the towels, certain to grab the ones they had used for the beach rather than the good soft ones that were heaven on his skin. Claire once told him she was glad he liked the feel of the cotton because she was never going to admit how much they cost. He pinched an elbow pillow set up in the nursery on the rocking chair and one of the baby towels from the cupboard before he headed for the stairs.

His foot was an inch from the top step when Owen registered that the house was silent. Claire wasn’t screaming, no painful sounds rattled against the windows. Even Whiskey had stopped her sympathetic whimpering. Owen’s heart stopped, caught in his throat as eager anticipation simmered in his veins.

Worry flooded him in a heartbeat, Owen taking the stairs carefully as he turned from the living room into the kitchen, the open space usually bright and welcoming, still warm despite the storm outside. It was an internal GPS that zeroed in on Claire immediately, his wife on the floor, legs spread, her dress spattered with blood and a clear liquid he didn’t know the name of. Owen hardly cared, his eyes were on his wife holding a baby in her arms.

Air escaped him, Owen couldn’t catch a breath no matter how deeply he gulped for it. It happened. It was over. She was holding her son in her arms the both of them silent. She didn’t notice him standing there, breathing rapidly in his chest as he tried to catch his breath, her focus narrowed into the naked bundle in her arms.

Owen expected him to be crying, the baby kicking up as much of a fuss as his mother. He was quiet, wiggling arms and legs speaking for him as Claire held him to her breast, the steady fingers of one hand wiping his face clear.

‘I missed it.’ The words fell from Owen, the man standing there, arms full of supplies. He felt let down, sad and disappointed. They had been talking for months about the miraculous moment their son was going to come into the world and how they would both be there to greet him. He missed it. Like a flash of lightning in the middle of the day, it only happened for those who were looking for it.

Claire looked up, dragging her tired head from her baby to her husband as she beamed at the man. He was never going to forget that look on her face, still panting as she tried to catch her breath, lips spread as wide as they would go all teeth and pure joy. She looked at him and started laughing, deep belly, head thrown back, whole body laugh. If heaven had a sound, it was the way Claire laughed when her son was born.

He dropped everything, handing the newborn towel to Claire when she stretched her arm out concern coating her words making her sound like the new mother she was. ‘ _He’s cold_.’ Whiskey growled at Owen, the man sliding across the floor on his knees too quickly for his over protective dog, the animal sitting a foot away from Claire’s left side.

‘He really is a  _big_  boy.’ The doctors had been right in their numerous warnings that Claire would possibly end up in an emergency c-section, her son growing on the heavier side which was all Owen. Claire groaned, head rolling against his chest as she whispered that he didn’t ask her about it. She was still feeling it, phantom pain as her body tried to realign itself. Owen kissed her cheek, glued to her side as his arms wound around her back. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ He whispered second kiss pressed to her sweaty hair. She did it, all on her own, no assistance required. Owen felt the tears burn in his eyes, pride swelling behind his ribs.

‘You know, if you finished the house when you were supposed to the towels wouldn’t have been so far away. You wouldn’t have missed a thing.’ She teased, head tilted back to catch his eye as Owen pressed a hard kiss to her lips lovingly. Joy was pushing at his chest, ready to burst right through his skin. He’d take everything she threw at him for the rest of his life if he could keep her as happy as she was right now, their son finally with them.

[…]

‘I know I said I didn’t want to name him after my grandfather, but I keep looking at him, and all I hear is Bernard.’ Claire muttered to her husband, voice drifting over the sound of the rain falling on her hospital room window, baby in her arms fitted with a hospital tag. The triage nurse looked unsurprised to see the couple drenched from the rain, Claire clutching her new baby as she walked with an uncomfortable waddle, Owen by her side to assist in every step. It had been the kind of night for wild emergencies.

 _‘Babies always find a way when it’s most inconvenient.’_  She gave them a small smile, ushering them in and promising to call Claire’s physician immediately.

On first weigh in, the newest member of the Dearing-Grady family reached 11 pounds and 3 ounces. Everyone grimaced, heads turned to Claire like she was a goddess, the woman out of complaints as she eagerly took her baby back. Her physician looked them over, clearing Claire and her baby with a full bill of health but giving them a room for the night just to monitor mother and child.

‘We’ve only had him three hours, but I’m really feeling it.’ She smiled at Owen, the man sitting on the end of her bed, one leg dangling off the side as he watched his wife hold their child like they were the most precious things in the world. For Owen, in that moment, and forever more, Claire and his son were invaluable. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for them, no limit on his love and admiration. They were everything.

He shrugged, ‘Claire, honestly,’ Owen began, voice dripping with adoration. ‘You just gave birth to him at home, no drugs, no support, no medical security. You can name him whatever you want; I’ll live with it.’ He had been the one to suggest Bernard a few months ago while his wife was struggling with the passing of her grandfather. Owen had no issue with the name and if it was what Claire wanted, he would let her have it. ‘I love you.’ He added, words falling out of his mouth with no control. He never wanted to miss a second where he wasn’t telling her of his love. ‘I love  _him_.’

‘Bernie.’ She corrected, smile soft as her finger stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘I know you were set on Willis.’ Owen shrugged, a smile on his face, he was caught in nirvana, honest when he said he didn’t care.

‘We can use it as a middle name.’ He suggested, knowing his wife well enough to understand Bernard wasn’t completely off the table when she said it was. ‘I really am so proud of you, Claire.’ He told her again, she couldn’t remember how many times he had said it in the last few hours his eyes wide and shining with the same love he’d shown her on their wedding day.

She hummed, dragging her eyes away from Bernard’s full face. ‘You should be, my vagina’s ruined.’ She teased, already sure she wasn’t about to get over  _that_  anytime soon.

He laughed, kissing the side of her head as a finger stroked against his son’s cheek. ‘Do you want me to go call your mom now?’ In the dramatics of it all neither Owen nor Claire had time to call their family, reaching the hospital they chose to have a few quiet moments together before they were inundated with phone calls and text messages. Claire nodded softly, quietly whispering ‘ _yeah_ ’ as he moved to get up and leave the room.

‘No,’ Claire stopped him, ‘We can FaceTime her’. Owen nodded, his wife was full of great ideas even after she had pushed his child from her belly, mind and body exhausted. He settled down beside her again, Claire inching over in her hospital bed so her husband could fit comfortably.

They waited while the phone rang, Owen holding it high enough that Theresa Dearing wouldn’t see what her daughter held. ‘Claire, h — oh! Is it happening?!’ Her mother caught up immediately, noticing where her daughter and son-in-law were. Claire chuckled, Owen’s grin wide as they watched her mother move about her house, throwing herself up from the couch she had been sitting on to gather her things.

‘Mom,’ Claire tried to calm her. ‘Mom. Just, stop for a second.’ Theresa stopped in the hallway staring at her daughter through the screen of the phone. ‘It’s a little too late for rushing around.’

‘Meet Bernard Willis Dearing-Grady.’ Owen announced, shifting the angle of the phone so his mother-in-law could see both her daughter and her grandson.

On the other end of the line, Theresa couldn’t hold it together. She shrieked with excitement, squealing at the sight of her grandson as she shouted through the house for her husband. Claire was sure there were tears on her mother’s cheeks, but the woman’s hands were shaking so furiously the camera couldn’t focus.

‘Oh, Claire.’ Her mother sighed, definitely crying at the sound of her wet voice. ‘Oh, my girl, why didn’t you call me?’  Claire felt her own tears bubble, suddenly feeling the vulnerability of her day crash down on her shoulders.

Owen chuckled, filling in the gaps for Theresa as he saw Markus come into frame, the camera steady as it suddenly changed hands, the older man speechless and as tearful as his wife. ‘The storm caught us, we would have called if we could. He was born at home faster than we were prepared to admit.’ Owen added, smiling at the way his wife rolled her eyes.

‘Can we come visit?’ Her mother asked, father nodding behind her.

Claire smiled, she really wanted to see her mom. Desperately needed her. This wasn’t their plan. When she was given the documents for her birth plan, Claire wanted it in the hospital, natural delivery. Although she had changed her mind towards the end, doctors warned that her husband’s heavy baby might not be able to pass through the birth canal. No drugs only her husband and her mother there to rally support amongst the medical staff. She had done it without any of those people. No doctors, no nurses, no Owen in the room or Theresa squeezing her hand. Owen kept repeating how proud of her she was and Claire felt it, pride in her son, in her ability to do something she was so sure she couldn’t. But, right now she just wanted her mother to wrap her in a hug so she could cry about how scary it had been while her husband held their son.

Owen squeezed her arm, happily supplying reassurance as her parents promised to be there as soon as they could.

‘Do you want to call your parents?’ Claire asked.

Owen shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to be overwhelmed with visitors. You need your parents, we’ll call mine in the morning.’ He promised, kissing the top of her head as Bernard, in his mother’s arms mewled.

He wanted to savour what they had for a little bit longer, knowing that within the next hour their lives would be filled with other people offering support, suggestions and advice begging to be part of their lives more than they ever had been. He wanted to spend what he had left of silence with his wife and their newborn.


	183. #183 - One Word Prompt: Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT
> 
> ANON: Stay

 

 _Stay_. The word tickled at the back of her throat, screaming down her oesophagus as she choked. She couldn’t say it, couldn’t force it out despite an urgency clenching at her fingers.  _Stay._ Claire knew, if she didn’t spit it out he would finish packing his duffle and would waltz right out the door. 

She was stubborn and hot-headed. She brought this on herself, on the both of them. He was naive if he didn’t see it coming. But, then again, it had all been so  _good_ until now. Corporate Claire had returned, business world sucking her back into its claws once Jurassic World finally released them. Her attention deviated from their Costa Rican apartment baked in sun, the lazy days they spent in nothing but bedsheets wrapped around their naked skin. Her phone didn’t stop, her computer always open. Casual, badass, love of his life, Claire disappeared and she knew it. She saw herself pulling from him, staying at the office and soaking herself in work. She was tried – dead tired – of the heels on her feet, tired of missing him, of pulling herself away in an attempt to save herself. She didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t want to rely on someone other than herself. 

There she was, watching him angrily shove clothes into his bag with a flippant promising that he’d be out of her hair in  _five minutes_. She didn’t want him to go. Didn’t mean to make him angry. Claire didn’t want it to end like this. 

‘Stay.’ She croaked, catching his attention as Owen’s head snapped towards her. ‘I don’t want you to go.’ 

‘You can’t be serious right now.’ Claire felt her bottom lip curl, tears burning at her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, refused to let the emotion get to her as a bad gut feeling gnawed at her insides. She couldn’t let him leave, not without trying to make him stay. 

She nodded, blinking back the tears. ‘I’m not good at this.’ Claire told him and Owen scoffed, nodding his head. ‘I just – work is all I know.’ 

Owen softened, anger in his eyes melting away as his frustration let go of his fingers. ‘You can’t phase me out, Claire.’ She nodded again. ‘I don’t ask for much.’ In fact, he didn’t ask for anything not even for her to be present until recently. ‘Its just a weekend.’ He told her. ‘I think we need the break.’ She couldn’t deny that he needed some time away. Even in her mental absence, she knew he needed it. 

‘You’ll come back though?’ He dropped the shirt he was holding, fabric falling onto his duffle as Owen stepped towards her. His kiss on her cheek was warm, consistent, loving. 

‘I promise. Then we’ll talk.’ 


	184. #184 - One Word Prompt: Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT  
> ANON: please
> 
> Owen wants a dog and he's not below begging

’Please?’ She hated the way he said it like he was a child begging for a treat and she was the adult who had to divert his interest. They were adults, the fact that he needed her permission both dumbfounded Claire and proved that he really did need to ask before making major decisions. 

He was whining like a child too, which didn’t help the small headache that was climbing up the back of her spine. Claire avoided shopping with Owen, in fact, she didn’t do it at all because he became too insufferable to stand. They were supposed to be picking out a gift for Gray which was the only reason why he was present. She was still a little out of touch when it came to the soon-to-be teen. Owen was there to give advice, help her chose and ultimately keep his hands to himself while she ducked into one of the home decor stores to find a wall hanging for their sparse living room. 

Somehow, she managed to lose sight of him. Not that it was hard, he was always a step or two behind her when they weren’t walking side by side, his hand on the small of her back. When he called her name, voice sounding a little more distant than it should have been, Claire felt all the goodwill she had left for the day sink into her stomach. 

Owen was holding a puppy. She had made the stupid mistake of walking him past the pet store not once but three times in their two hours in the mall. He planned this. She was sure of it. Claire chided herself for not realising, for not distracting him as Owen looked at her with wide eyes, arms full of a wiggling Golden Retriever. 

‘Put it back, Owen.’ She warned voice light but threat present. A small part of her panicked scared he’d already bought it before she noticed. 

‘We need a dog, babe.’ 

They had been in Madison for five months. They certainly did not need a dog. She shook her head, short no pushing past her lips as her eyes flicked to the shop girl watching them closely and the passersby who were starting to figure out what was going on there. 

‘Please?’ He asked like a little boy, almost batting his eyelashes at her as Claire closed her eyes and sighed. 

She stepped towards him, heels of her boots clicking against the tiles of the mall flooring until she was just outside arms reach. ‘Owen, honey,’ she smiled, wide and false. ‘We’re not here for a dog. We’re here for Gray and maybe even a rug. Not a dog.’ She repeated, knowing full well her decor shop was going to climb in digits if he complained long enough. 

‘But look at him,’ He told her, holding the puppy higher. ‘He wants a home.’ 

Claire nodded, shrugging as she did so. ‘Yeah, and you know what, maybe in a week or two we can go down to the shelter and pick out a dog that needs a home. But, not right now.’ He frowned, only slightly deflated as he waved the puppy’s small paw in her direction before handing it back. 

‘I’m going to hold you to that.’ He tore away without another hesitation, picking up the bag that held Gray’s present as his other hand found the small of her back. 

‘Good luck.’


	185. #185 - One Word Prompt: Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT 
> 
> ANON: morning
> 
> Claire finds herself in a sticky situation. Owen doesn't help.

This was a one word prompt I did before I finished my thesis. Prompt was ‘morning’ by anonymous. 

 

It was one of those mornings where nothing was going right.

She woke up feeling like shit, was out of coffee and yoghurt for her morning breakfast. Better yet, Claire found out her schedule had been overbooked. Life for Claire Dearing was about to be non-stop from 6:30am to 7pm. For once, she could will herself to put on her business face.

Claire loved her job, lived for her job but sometimes she wanted the smallest glimmers of life her in between meeting breaks offered her. Not today. It wasn’t like she could complain, this didn’t happen often even in the busy season.

She broke a fingernail before finishing her less than adequate breakfast, managed to poke a hole in two  _different_ sets of stockings, her favourite shirt was still wet in the dryer and Claire couldn’t manage to get a crease out of the skirt she wanted to wear.

To make matters worse, it was hot out with the temperature already climbing.

Claire couldn’t help but think her issues were insignificant against other matters in the world but will a full day ahead of her and a tension headache beginning to throb between her temples she couldn’t seem to care.  

The weather wasn’t usually an issue, she spent 90% of her day indoors with the air conditioning blasting on just chilly enough she occasionally needed a jacket. But, this morning, she was already standing in the research sector of the park, red dirt under her expensive shoes as she prepared to meet with Owen Grady.

Her day was already going to be stressful enough she didn’t know why it had to start with Owen. That man knew how to push all of her buttons, making her cheeks flush and her words stutter. If she was being honest, on a slow day, Claire almost looked forward to seeing Owen. He challenged her, kept her mind active and her heart racing. She couldn’t stand him for any longer than twenty minutes but it was usually enough to get an infuriating fix.

She could feel the sweat pebbling on her bow, upper lip soaked as a slight breeze did nothing but highlight how hot it was outside. Claire almost climbed back into her car, right there and then, sure that she could head straight for the office and the Velociraptor trainer would be none the wiser. If she could cancel on anyone, it would be Owen Grady. But, she was already there and if she skipped out on their meeting he would probably think he had gotten to her. That, and he was already behind on paperwork she desperately needed.

Claire sighed, taking a deep breath as she squared her shoulders before leaning back into her car to collect her phone and a folder full of paperwork. She pushed the door hard, waiting to hear the loud thud of metal and rubber slamming shut as her fingers found the lock button and pressed it. She didn’t have a need to lock her car out there, or on the island at all. Claire considered it a force of habit. It beeped all too cheerfully.

Her problems didn’t really start until she tried to step away. Her blouse was stuck. The loose fabric, bellowing at her waist and caught in the breeze had wedged itself between the seals on the door. Claire grumbled, irritated with herself as she fumbled with the items in her hand to get her finger on the unlock button on her car key. In her struggle, juggling phone, file and key between clammy hands, her fingers lost grip of the small device, item slipping from her and falling to the dirt at her feet.  

An audible groan slipped from her, Claire pressing her eyes closed tightly as she slowly tried to lower herself down far enough to reach it. Her shirt was caught too tight, restricting her movements, the key only inches away. She returned to her upright position, shifting gently as she tried to wriggle the fabric free without tearing. Nothing. She was properly stuck.

With her shoe, Claire toed at the key in the dirt, trying to hit the button and unlock the car. It didn’t work. She thought about calling for help, reaching out to her assistant, but decided otherwise. It would take Zara too long to get out there, by the time the other woman reached her a handler would have turned up to work and assisted first. Phone still in hand, Claire thought about calling someone else. There was no one to call. She could have called Lowery, the man likely to be able to unlock her car remotely but he would never let her live it down. She was supposed to be meeting Owen. The man had to be around somewhere but the Raptor Paddock was void of movement. There was no one, not even Owen and there was certainly no way she was calling him if he didn’t stumble upon her first. He would be worse than Lowery.

Instead, stubborn and annoyed, Claire stood there wiggling and jostling about in an attempt to free her shirt. She started to tug eventually, not caring if it tore anymore. At least, if she damaged her clothes, she could return home for twenty minutes to collect her rising temper. The fabric remained steady and yet she continued to tug and pull, yanking at it as she stamped her foot in the dirt.

The buttons of her blouse strained against her chest, threatening to pop open as an idea crept into her head. Claire had been out there for a solid fifteen minutes, sweating right through her clothes as she tried to break free. In that time no one had passed her, not a single soul showed themselves. It would take her thirty seconds to unbutton her blouse and slip free to grab her key and button herself back up again. Thirty seconds. Forty-five if she fumbled. It was highly unlikely that no one would walk by in that time.

Claire Dearing didn’t need help. She could save herself.

Her fingers were swift against the buttons of her blouse, popping one after the other as she practically danced in anticipation. She broke free, chest heaving as the breeze caught her skin, still warm but setting goosebumps across her arms. Claire stepped away from her shirt and the car, revelling in her freedom for a moment before she bent down to collect her key. The car beeped it’s cheery sound, promising it was unlocked.

She wasted no time in pulling the door open, freeing her shirt and sliding her arms back through it again. Claire buttoned the blouse, tucking it back into her skirt and flattening her hands over her figure before she grinned. No one caught her.

She was sweaty, could feel it from head to toe and part of her just wanted to head home and save herself from another ordeal after surviving one. She owed it to Owen, to the livelihood of the Raptor’s to conduct the meeting. She knocked on his office door to no response, he wasn’t there. She felt her hackles rise, irritation returning over the triumph she was currently living off, proud that she managed to free herself despite risking major embarrassment.

‘You’re late.’ She told him, lips pressed into a thin line as she saw him round the corner, keys in hand ready to unlock the office door she had knocked on three times in the last eighty seconds.

Owen shook his head, smirk climbing across his face in a way that made heat pool in Claire’s belly making her hate herself for feeling that way. He hummed, ‘No, I was on time’.

She opened her mouth to rebut his remark, eyes on her watch prepared to tell him they were supposed to start ten minutes ago. His meaning reached her, colour burning deep in her cheeks, hotter than the sun above. ‘How long were you watching?’ Dread filled her belly, she couldn’t not ask.

‘From the second you realised you were stuck.’ He unlocked his office door, pushing it open as he gave her a look out the corner of his eye.

‘Why didn’t you come and help me?’

Owen shrugged, ‘Wanted to see what you would do first’. It was a reasonable response from him, one that didn’t sound sly but actually curious. They paid him to watch animals, to figure out their behaviours it had never crossed Claire’s mind until now that he would do the same with people around him. ‘Is it normal for you to be wearing lacy lingerie to work?’ He winked at her, something in his eyes telling her that it wouldn’t leave the space between them. 

‘Can we just work so I can leave?’ She asked, shooting him down as Owen dropped the subject. 


	186. #186 - One Word Prompt: Disappointed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT
> 
> ANON: disappointed
> 
> Claire finds herself disappointed when she meets Owen for their first date

She felt something dislodge in her chest when she saw him. A weight lifted from her shoulders as the world fell away. It was disappointment, slight frown filling her face and relief, thankful that he had sabotaged himself. It saved Claire a whole lot of effort in doing it herself.

Board shorts.

He was wearing board shorts on a formal date. He didn't even look apologetic about it. Just grinned at her as she approached, the man finally on time for once.

She didn't say anything. Just bit her tongue and held still as she accepted the kiss he pressed to her cheek. She couldn't deny that the way he smelt made her dizzy. Head spinning with an intoxicating waft of sea salt and sandalwood. How could he be both ocean and trees in one go? Musk heady and masculine, tempting enough to ditch their dinner plans and just go back to her place.

Claire refused to allow herself that temptation. Refused to fall to her knees in front of him, giving into the boyish charm and societal placed sense of importance. Claire wouldn't be a conquest. Refused.

She internally planned for their date to go well. Maitre D on hand to pass her an important business call on her desperate cue for escape. She wasn't going home with Owen Grady. In fact, she wasn't even going to have a second date. Regardless, she was still disappointed by his board shorts. He could have  _tried_  to do better.

It felt like neither of them were trying. Like they had both bitten off more than they could chew with this date, too stubborn to back out in order to save face. That or, Owen in his attempt to break down her walls, went casual to make her feel comfortable. She was just annoyed.

His chances had been small in wooing her so much so she let him in. There was a voice singing gleefully in the back of her head, tiny but sure that it would get some satisfaction. It died as Claire let her eyes drift to the navy blue board shorts he wore. She had to give him credit where it was due, at least they were a sensible colour. There was no way she and Owen Grady were leaving this establishment any more than frustrated with each other.


	187. #187 - Charlie and a Little Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt: no

 

Charlie pouted. 

All she did was pout at Claire. Owen she loved and Claire knew nothing would get in the way of that. A small part of her hoped when their wild child reached her teens that some of her loyalty would sway towards her mother. Charlie didn’t give Claire the time of day. Claire would never fight to take Charlie’s affection from Owen, but it would have been nice to just once get her fair share of childly love. Selfishly, she hoped their second child would look at her the same way Charlie looked to Owen; like she held every answer to the world and the moon all at once. 

‘Are you ready, bug?’ Owen asked, sitting awkwardly beside his wife on the edge of their chaise lounge as Charlie sat in front of Claire. They had purposefully put space between Owen and Charlie. She told him he couldn’t hold the girl. They had to be seperate in this. No mom against dad as she opened the card they put together for her. If Owen comforted her, all negative energy would direct itself to Claire. The last thing she wanted was Charlie thinking there needed to be an _us_ vs _them_ mentality. This wasn’t how their family was supposed to function. Claire was ready to put her foot down. 

Charlie shrugged, trying to play indifferent as her eyes jumped between the adults. 

It was Claire who handed over the bulky envelope, Charlie trying not to snatch it once it was in her reach. She fiddled with it, keeping herself a few steps away from too eager as she watched her fingers run over the white page. 

‘So,’ Claire started, ‘If the inside of the card is _blue_ it means you’re getting a baby brother. And, if the inside of the card is _pink_ it means the baby will be a girl.’ 

Charlie dragged her eyes from the card to her mother, briefly flicking her glance to Owen before it returned to Claire. ‘I just want a dog.’ She’d been on track for weeks, every mention of the baby had Charlie interjecting the word _dog_ in it’s place. Claire wondered if Charlie truely believed sheer will would get her a puppy instead of a sibling. Their daughter, soon to be eldest child, was too young to understand how _hard_ her parents had to fight for this baby. Explaining it would be worthless now, time consuming and mentally taxing. It was enough dealing with Charlie’s constant denial. But, she had been there over the last three years, Claire in and out of pain both mental and physical as they lived each month hoping for a positive test before they finally turned to medical means. 

Claire was sure her daughter had curled up in their king bed on a particularly bad day and cuddled with her mother until the hurt turned into a dull ache. Some small part of her understood, but they had also raised a headstrong and somewhat selfish child who wasn’t about to lie down until she got what she wanted. 

Unfortunately for Charlie Grady, she wasn’t getting a puppy any time in the next half a decade. 

‘What would you like the baby to be?’ Owen asked, a hand reaching across his wife’s lap to squeeze Claire’s knee. 

‘A Golden Retriever named Spot.’ Charlie answered again, loud sigh leaving Claire before she could stop it. She leant back against the couch, left hand moving to slide across her rounding stomach as she squeezed her eyes closed for a second. What were they thinking? Had they been delusional for three years? Why would they want to add another child to the sass storm that was Charlie Mae?

Claire straightened her back, hand moving from her stomach to reach for Charlie’s little wrist. ‘It’s really important to me that you understand continually asking for a puppy will not get you one. Unfortunately, Charlie, you’re getting a sibling and we can’t have a dog in the house until the baby is a little bit bigger. But I promise when your brother or sister starts going to pre-school, we’ll reassess the dog thing.’ Claire squeezed her hand, meeting Charlie’s blazing blue eyes with her own. 

The girl jolted, finally tugging free the card from it’s sleeve as she elected to not grant her mother’s statement with a response. Claire didn’t push the point, hurricane Charlie wasn’t worth it right now. 

Instead, they watched their daughter intensely both parents already knew what was inside the card. Claire had wanted to surprise them both, Owen and Charlie at the same time but her husband was impatient and her daughter temperamental. He found out at the same appointment Claire did, holding her hand as they had done when they found out Charlie was a girl. That was two weeks ago, the two of them arguing how best to break it to the child who wouldn’t be happy no matter the result. 

Charlie pried the card open, fingers sliding between the paper as pink reflected under her chin. 

‘What colour is it?’ Owen asked. 

She twisted her wrist, flashing the soft pink in his direction as her face started to crease. 

‘What does that mean?’ Owen asked, playing stupid to the child who definitely thought he was. Charlie loved her father, mostly because at five-years-old she could talk down to him. 

Charlie dropped her head, chin pressed to her chest as her bottom lip started to curl. They all knew what was coming and were powerless to stop it. ‘A sister.’ She wailed tears falling hot and fat down her cheeks ‘I don’t want a sister.’ She wailed harder, tossing the card to the floor. She didn’t stamp her foot, or shout, or scream. Charlie simply cried, like she was suddenly missing a part of herself she couldn’t bare to lose. Grief catching her little mind as it squeezed the tears out of her. ‘I wanted a brother.’ 

A part of Claire wanted to tell the girl that if she had stopped with the _dog_ debacle she might have gotten a brother, but as an adult who understood how these things worked it wouldn’t be fair to lie to Charlie. It would have been an effective way to put the girl in her place but she was only five, after all. 

‘Charlie,’ Claire started, voice quiet as she ducked her head, trying to catch Charlie’s eye. ‘Do you know what? A little brother is just the same as a little sister.’

The girl wasn’t convinced. 

‘It really is, baby, you can do all the same things with them no matter their gender.’ Claire nodded. ‘You can ride bikes and help dad at the zoo, your baby sister can play baseball or football, she might even want to do karate. These things aren’t specific to boy’s, Char. You’re a little girl and you do them, what’s stopping your sister?’

‘She’s gonna like _pink_.’ Charlie sobbed, heartbreaking like she could see into the future picking out exactly how her sibling was going to be. 

Claire shook her head. ‘We don’t know that. You, as her big sister, will need to help the baby make those decisions.’ 

Her shoulders shook, body trembling as she cried. Claire reached for her daughter, heart aching and initially Charlie pulled away. Her mother clicked her tongue softly sighing and like magic Charlie curled into her lap, fitting easily around the curve of their second daughter. Despite her tears, Charlie’s little hand sat on top of her mother’s bump. 

Owen reached for the card on the floor, picking it back up and reading the small words Claire had pressed against the pink paper. _I can’t wait to meet you_. Charlie was indifferent until Owen flashed the small packets of candy hearts filling the envelope. 

‘Can I have them?’ She asked, one hand wiping at her eyes as the other moved from her mother to reach out for the candies. Owen nodded easily, grin wide as he deposited a roll into her hand, twisting the ends slightly so it was already open for her. ‘What a nice baby sister leaving you candies.’ He added, Charlie’s head pressed to her mother’s shoulder as she slipped one of the sugary disks past her lips. 

She was an enigma. Never one to seek comfort from Claire and there Charlie was, tucked into her mother’s chest, crying about her new sibling, tears easing with the aid of her gifted candy. 

‘Do you love your little sister?’ Claire asked softly, squeezing Charlie’s leg as she kissed the top of her daughter’s surprisingly clean hair. 

Charlie shook her head, ‘No’. She sobered, tears drying on her cheeks, free from a fresh fall until the girl started again, her emotional response switched back on. ‘I just want a puppy dog.’ She wailed, Claire rolling her eyes for Owen to see as she cradled the girl to her chest as close as she could, rocking them both slightly. 

It was going to be a hard fight but they would get Charlie to like her little sister. She might even surprise them by the time the baby arrives, suddenly accepting of the new addition. Claire doubted life would be so easy with their daughter that liked to keep her parents on their toes. 


	188. #188 - One Word Prompt: Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT 
> 
> ANON: Climax
> 
> Things get hot and heavy for Owen and Claire after their terrible date suddenly gets better

 

She hated him. 

She hated the way his hair curled around his ears, the cocky curve of his lips and the swagger he walked with. 

Hated his broad shoulders and the round expanse of his biceps. 

She _loathed_ that he was so much _bigger_ than she was, his whole body covering hers as he backed her against the exterior wall. She hated that he made her heart skip a beat every time they locked eyes from the very first time they met. She hated that she felt queasy whenever she was near him, light headed, stomach doing flips as her knees grew weak. He was kryptonite and she didn’t know why. 

And then he kissed her outside the restaurant, gentle and sweet, apologetic for their quickly turning sour night. She wanted to say it was all him, he leant in and took her lips without permission but Claire knew better than that. She stepped towards him, their mouths inches apart suddenly colliding as her hand slid up his chest. 

They were terrible together. Atrocious. Near causing a scene as insults flew back and forth across the table, tension rising in the air around them making Claire pink cheeked and frustrated. She wanted to hit him, flat of her hand making contact with the stubble on his cheek at his audacity to call her _uptight_. She kept her mouth closed and when they met to part ways on the sidewalk, she couldn’t find the strength to bite her tongue. She bit his lip instead, man growling under their shared kiss as his fingers flexed against her hips. 

She hated that she wanted him. 

Hated that she couldn’t find the strength to say no when he growled; _‘Bungalow. Now.’_

They didn’t even make it inside. He had her shoved against the weatherboards, skirt hiked up around her hips as his board shorts crunched before they hit the ground. She tried not to think about it; how ridiculous he was or how badly she wanted him _anyway_. 

It was easily too much as he thrust his hips against hers, his knuckles brushing the insides of her thighs as he guided himself home. Claire couldn’t help the moan that clawed itself out of her, mind trying to ignore how he _filled_ her, voice in her head telling her she would never feel that complete again. 

They kissed liked animals, ferocious and wild, teeth clashing in a battle of dominance where no one would win.

She could only ding her nails into his ass as her climax built, tightening like a wound coil ready to break. It wasn’t going to be long for either of them, Owen’s teeth pressed into her shoulder as feral grunts pulled similar sounds from her throat. 

He was spent before she was, his orgasm pumping his hips in short movements as his teeth bit down hard. She was going to bruise by morning and where Claire would usually have been furious she was too busy focusing on the man dropping to his knees in front of her, hands and tongue working their way across her thighs before he found her pulsing sex, ready for the climax their bodies had been promising all night. 

In that moment, Claire couldn’t seem to hate him. 


	189. #189 - One Word Prompt: Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT 
> 
> ANON: kiss 
> 
> Owen and Claire share a kiss outside of the relief hanger

 

He promised her survival, the two of them side by side for as long as it took. 

She didn’t want to move from his presence, drawn to him like a magnet, unsure of what to do with herself. Karen was there, Scott too, the two of them embracing their children and checking over their scrapes. She couldn’t go back to that. She couldn’t stand there awkwardly as she felt guilty for everything that happened to her sister’s kids. 

Instead, she followed Owen out of the hanger and onto the tarmac. The sun was warm directly on her skin but the air held a crisp feel. She kept the blanket draped over her arms, limbs still shivering with shock. 

They moved away from the wide open doors and the faces of families reuniting until they could still hear them but weren’t in a direct path. Owen lent back against the tin of the hanger, metal hot but he didn’t show it. He exhaled, breath shaky as his eyes focused far off in the distance. Claire watched him, unable to tear her eyes away as she finally managed to study his face. 

She had seen Owen up close before, fought with him, breath on the other’s cheek but she had never really taken him in. Earlier, during the day before when the incident tore havoc on their workplace and home, they had huddled in the jungle foreheads pressed together as she felt him pant against her damp skin. She was too busy squeezing her eyes closed, fingers locked tight around his shirt to properly look at the man who was risking his life to help her. 

Claire didn’t know why she was studying him, jaw still tense as his face tried to be relaxed. She could see his teeth grinding behind his skin as his eyes squinted in the bright light. They smelt like shit, literally, sweat and dung and gasoline. Her clothes were torn, slick with dirt as his looked unrecognisable. She wanted a shower or a bathtub that would fill up to her shoulders. She wanted her shoes off and her clothes burnt to ashes. She wanted Owen to join her, bodies bare and sore seeking relief from the trauma they shared. 

‘What?’ He turned to her, aware of her staring. 

She shook her head softly, the movement barely there as she stepped towards him, her arm bumping against his. Her fingers, still holding her blanket reached for his shirt, curling around the fabric as Owen’s eyes held contact with hers. 

It was unspoken, her intentions clear without the words as Owen lowered his head and Claire stepped out of her bloody shoes. He had to follow her down further, back almost bent as his lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle, brief, bare brushing of lips against each other before she applied more pressure, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as she pulled him in. 

The world stopped. Her heart started racing with a new kind of adrenaline as everything melted away. They weren’t standing outside a hanger holding the twenty-thousand park guests that had been traumatised yesterday. There were nowhere, it was warm and if she focused she could hear waves crashing against the shore. But Claire’s attention was on Owen and the sigh that pushed past his lips and against hers. 

They were alive. 


	190. #190 - One Word Prompt: Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT
> 
> ANON: tired

He shuffled through the front door like the weight of the world was chained to his ankle. She smiled at him, joy soft on her face, head tilted to catch his eye in the foyer. 

‘Honey, I’m home.’ He chimed, giving her a gentle smile as he toed off his shoes and wrestled his shoulders out of his jacket. She shut the lid of her laptop, sliding the computer onto the coffee table as she gave Owen her full attention. 

She loved the way his hips swayed as he walked, eyes caught in the rhythm and swagger. He was wearing khaki, a small fact Claire never failed to miss. Owen, with his casual clothes, too much denim and always splashed with dirt seemed to be a wardrobe opposite of her pressed suits and power skirts. 

He passed her easily, stopping to drop a kiss on her head before he curled himself onto their wide couch. They had chosen this one purely for him. Owen was tall, not much more than the regular man but he liked his comfort especially when it came to his sofas. He wanted to be able to stretch across wide and plush cushions able to wrap his arms around Claire when he was tired and comfortably remain there. 

He practically crawled across the sofa, one hand reaching out to slide behind Claire’s knee, encouraging the woman to lift her leg and turn her body towards his. She stretched out along the length of him, legs almost sliding off the edge as he slipped himself between her side and the back of the couch. 

Owen sighed, sound long and dry past his mouth as he settled. Claire could feel his muscles shift, relaxing as the day melted away. He dropped his head to her chest, her hands in his hair instantly as she carded her nails across his scalp. 

He purred in that way grown men do, eyes fluttering closed as he pushed his head against her touch encouraging more, _harder._ She was way too rough with him, Claire sure he just liked it that way rather than having tough skin like he claimed. She tugged and scratched and nipped, lips finding the ridge of his eyebrow as she left him with a pleasant kiss. 

‘Long day?’ She asked, the man sighing for a second time. He nodded, grunting softly when her fingers stopped. 

Claire knew, if she stayed there, held down by the weight of him that Owen would easily drift off into sleep. At 7pm she couldn’t exactly have him running off to dreamland, not when he was on top of her, too heavy to move. 

She tried to nudge at his shoulder, softly complaining that she had to put dinner on. He didn’t budge. ‘No.’ Owen grunted, arms sliding around her waist. ‘Stay.’ She didn’t exactly have a choice. Not that Claire was complaining, he was like a warm and heavy blanket, smelling distinctly of _Owen_. 

Instead, she started to talk, telling him softly about the conversation she had with Karen on the phone only thirty minutes earlier, filling him in on her sister’s divorce and the development of her nephews. Claire kept a hand in his hair, the other sliding down his neck and past the collar of his shirt as her nails ran lazy patterns over his back eliciting easy snores from the man she undeniably loved. 


	191. #191 - Charlie and Personal Struggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: please write something about Claire and Owen meeting Charlie’s boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite meeting her boyfriend. But, this is an idea I’ve had in my head for probably a year now. I just never had the motivation or the finishing pieces to complete it.

She met her husband in the driveway of their two-storey three bedroom home three minutes past twelve o’clock. It was exactly as they planned, Owen winking at her as he crossed the distance between them, his large hands reaching her narrow hips first.

He kissed her like he was starving like their skin hadn't touched in weeks. Claire would have argued that it had only been days, the two of them more cautious now that their daughters were 16 and 11 than what they had ever been when they were toddlers.

It was lunchtime on a school day, the exact reason why Owen and Claire were kissing on their front lawn, her husband's impatient hands already sliding into the back of her tight slacks.

No one was home and when her after lunch appointment was cancelled Claire couldn't help but keep the extra hour free, allowing her two hours to meet her husband at home, fuck him and enjoy an easy lunch before returning to work.

The girls were supposed to be none the wiser.

The house was quiet when Owen unlocked the door, his wife giggling behind him as her small fingers wrapped themselves around the belt loops on his pants. They moved inside as one, Owen twisting in her grip to kiss his wife again. This was what they needed. Middle of the day serenity to bask in the other. Never had they struggled to find time for each other but once the girls started to get older it had become increasingly hard to ship them off to their grandparents for the weekend. They started living for cancelled meetings and weekends filled with teenaged plans.

Owen and Claire thought they were safe in broad daylight, house empty for another four hours before Charlie and Elliot were due to walk in the door, heads heavy from their day full of learning.

Her husband tugged on her hand, turning them to push his wife against the wall that separated the living room from the hallway. Claire couldn’t believe the need she had to wrap herself around him. Their bedroom had long been reclaimed taken from sleepless child filled nights. Elliot still sought out a cuddle before bed, happily bringing her parents a book but she no longer stayed tucked within their sheets. Charlie came and went as she pleased, often sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed while her parents brushed their teeth. She used their bedroom like she should have been using her psych appointments; not that Owen and Claire would ever turn her away. She read essays, sought schoolyard advice, conversed with her mother in French just for the practice leaving her father dazed and confused and pointlessly rambled to those who listened before they sent her off to bed.

They had gotten their space back but not the freedom to do as they pleased behind closed doors. Elliot, age eleven, slept through the night but still knew nothing of personal boundaries. Owen, in his age, felt more conscious having sex with his wife when there were teenagers in the house as opposed to toddlers. So, they waited until they left or any other opportunity of an empty nest.

They were supposed to be alone.

‘Get out.’ Owen growled, snapping Claire from her lust-filled revere. It took a second for her eyes to focus before she realised he wasn’t growling at her. Claire stilled, arms slipping from Owen’s neck to grip at his waist. She focused on the feel of his khaki shirt under the pads of her fingers as her heart thudded in her chest.

‘Dad?!’ Charlie’s voice shrieked as Claire let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

‘Now.’ His voice boomed, hand flexing on Claire’s hip. She found courage in the sound of her daughter’s voice, sure there wasn’t an intruder in their house, to peek around the corner into the living room.

Charlie was standing, seventeen-years-old, in front of the couch and shrugging her school blouse back over her shoulders as her fingers blindly fiddled with the buttons. It took a second for another head to appear, brown hair ruffled, face sheepish. Charlie had been caught red-handed playing hookie with a boy and the heat was radiating off Owen in waves. Claire could feel his muscles tense, the man using all his willpower to not lunge across the room.

‘Markus,’ Charlie sighed, voice agitated. ‘You don’t have to go.’

Owen scoffed, breaking away from his wife as he stepped into the living room, Claire clinging for the last shreds of his control. ‘Oh no, he does.’ He told his daughter, levelling the girl with a hard stare as the boy beside her shrunk. ‘Out,’ Owen threw his arm towards the door ‘before I throw you out’.

Charlie shoved at the boy’s shoulder, wrist rolling before she shook her hand through her hair. Markus moved, head down as he rushed for the door. Owen stepped in front of him, hands rolled into fists at his side. Both Claire and Charlie knew he wouldn’t touch the kid. ‘What the  _fuck_  did you think you were doing, Charlie?’ He aimed his question at his daughter, looking right over the boy’s head as he glowered.

‘Oh, so you can come home and play hookie in the middle of the day but I can’t?’ She asked hip cocked as she stood defiantly. Between the two of them, Claire could see they were playing with fire. Charlie was a ticking time bomb ready to go off and the fact that they hadn’t caught her doing this already was surprising. It had all been a matter of time. And Owen, he didn’t want to see his daughter like this or  _know_  it was a possibility. Claire was sure Charlie and Elliot could grow into their thirties, marry and have babies and Owen Grady would still think their bodies hadn’t been touched.

‘Let the kid go, Owen.’ Claire stepped towards him, her hand gently squeezing his forearm.

Charlie climbed over the couch, narrowly avoiding both her parents as she escaped towards the stairs. ‘Fuck you.’ She yelled over her shoulder, heavy feet banging on the stairs as she ascended.

Markus slipped out the door, catching his escape as Charlie distracted her parents. ‘I’ll call you later, Char.’ It took the last of Owen’s withering control to not chase after the kid who went sprinting down the street.  

Owen turned, shoulders straightened as his hands still remained in tightly wound fists. He took four steps towards the staircase before Claire stepped in front of him jumping up on the bottom step and spreading her arms across the gap there. ’Stop.’ She demanded. ‘I need you to take ten minutes to breathe before you go up there ranting and raving to that girl that she shouldn’t be and can never have sex.’ Claire didn’t pull her eyes from his, they had been together for eighteen years. Nothing was going to make her back down.

‘Claire,’ He breathed, sighing her name gently. ‘She’s seventeen.’

Claire nodded. ‘I’m sorry, how old were you when you started luring girls into your bed?’ She asked, cocking a brow and already aware of the answer. He and Charlie were one in the same. Claire didn’t need to comment on the irony of catching them in  _their_ house instead of his. ‘This scares the shit out of me too but you can’t go in there telling her what she is doing is  _wrong_. It’s not advisable but if we go against her on this, Owen, it won’t be pretty.’

He shook his head, hands on his hips as he took a step back. Owen couldn’t do this. It was out of his thought processes. There was no way he was going to be able to look at Charlie and have this discussion with her.

Claire sighed, eyes rolling as she dropped a hand to her husband’s large shoulder. ‘Go cool off, caveman. I’ll talk to her.’

They couldn’t just ignore what they walked in to. It was twelve in the afternoon and Charlie was supposed to be at school. That was a matter Claire wanted to deal with first before broaching the subject of  _why_  they found their daughter sans shirt and if she was being safe.

She knocked once on Charlie’s closed door, Claire sucking in a deep breath before she pushed it open. There were days when she lost sight of her children’s growth. It was so easy to think back to when Charlie and Elliot were just little girls in need of bottles and diaper changes. It was hard to think of them as grown-up, ascending into adulthood as the years started to quickly pass them by.

One minute Charlie was begging for the book and the next she was shouting for Claire to go away.

‘I can’t.’ She told her daughter, addressing Charlie’s third shout of  _‘leave me alone’_. ‘You need to go back to school.’ Charlie had her back to Claire, curled up on her bed, legs tucked to her chest as she faced the wall.

‘You seriously cannot send me back there.’ Charlie whimpered, shoulders shaking as she let out a sob she couldn’t contain. Claire was concerned immediately. In the living room Charlie had been furious and now she was crying, the sound desperate in the back of her throat.

‘Charlie, you can’t just skip school.’ Claire asked, crossing the room slowly before she sat on the end of Charlie’s bed, legs crossed, shoes discarded on the floor.

‘I’ll be a laughing stock!’ Charlie whimpered half on a shout as she sat up, pulling her legs deeper into her chest as she pushed herself against the wall. The space between them increased as Claire watched the girl with concern. She asked a soft  _‘why_ ’ hand reaching out to touch Charlie’s shin. ‘All those assholes said I’m nothing if I’m not having sex.’ Her eyes watered, shimmering blue as she glared at her mother. ‘What the fuck do I care?’ She scoffed at herself, knowing her mother’s next question. ‘I  _planned_  to get caught.’ Claire gave her a puzzled look, head tilted, brow raised. ‘I heard you and Dad talking last night. Making plans to come home today. I thought, if I got caught and dad scared Markus off then I would have an excuse to fight it off a little longer. He’ll be too scared to touch me now.’ She shrugged, drying the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Claire grinned. She knew Charlie was cunning, knew the girl couldn’t possibly have been stupid enough to get caught. But, then again, on a typical day, Charlie didn’t know they came home for a rendezvous.  

‘Baby, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. These other kids, they can’t pressure you into it.’

Charlie nodded, tears bubbling again. ‘I just want them to leave me alone.’

‘You’re not ready.’ Claire offered, nodding softly as she waited for Charlie to agree. Instead, her daughter burst out into tears again.

Charlie shook her head. ‘I’m ready.’ She told her mom with a confident voice regardless of the shake in her voice. ‘I just don’t want to. I’m not interested. Is there something wrong with me?’

‘I read this book in college. It was a philosophy text and God knows why I had even picked it up in the first place. But, it taught me some things I know I have shared with you before but I want to share them again.’ Charlie knew what was coming as her mother shuffled forward and squeezed her hand. ‘You can’t help the things you feel, Charlie, only the things you do. That's what feelings are, that's why they’re called as such; because you  _feel_  them, they rise in your body and cause a storm in your head. You don’t think them into fruition. What counts,’ she squeezed Charlie’s hand harder, ‘is what you do with that emotion’. Don’t ball it up and throw it at your sister. Don’t take it out on the kids at school. Don’t hold it in until you’re blue in the face and screaming at nothing in particular. Don’t suppress your happy because you’re guilty. Live. Love. Laugh it out as all those home decor slogans say. God. How many times had she heard her mother say that in her lifetime? She hadn’t heard it much but in seventeen years the lesson popped up more than once.

There had been a time a few weeks after Max passed when it  _really_  sunk in that the little boy wasn’t coming back. It was when their minds started to adjust but their bodies couldn’t keep up. Charlie had howled, gut-wrenching cries that sent both parents barrelling into her room. She couldn’t see much through her tears and the dark light but she would never forget catching her mother practically falling through the doorframe. Claire had sunk into Charlie’s bed immediately, pulling the girl into her arms to try and fix her aching heart before she knew what was wrong. Owen; confident that his wife could solve the issue, when and popped his head into Elliot’s room comforting the little girl who had woken up with a fright.

Charlie forgot about Max for a split second before she went to sleep and when she remembered her guilt was immense. For a second, Charlie had been happy and couldn’t forgive herself for feeling so.

They didn’t realise until they lost Max that they had an emotional child on their hands. Charlie had always been so good at hiding it, never giving away her weakest hand until it was ripped from her, leaving the child bear.

That was the first time she remembered her mother wrapping her in warm vanilla scented arms and telling Charlie that it was okay to  _feel_. It was okay to be angry and sad and a little hopeful that the happy would return. What mattered was the way Charlie used that emotion. She needed to be happy and Max’s memory could forgive her for that.

It was also the night before Charlie first noticed her parents put on a fake smile. They forced themselves through severe emotions when they felt it wasn’t appropriate for their children to see. That wasn’t to say she never saw her mother or father cry. She had, more than once in that first year and every year after that. She saw them fuming with anger and dancing around the living room joyous. Charlie knew her parents as complex emotional beings who struggled just as she did to pick and chose how she let the world see those feelings. It was comforting to know there was a dysfunction there between them, shared genetically.

‘If you don’t feel like it, Charlie, that’s okay. You’re not hurting anyone.’ Claire offered, squeezing the young hand off her daughter who only continued to shake her head.

Charlie had never before fallen victim to peer pressure.

‘Molly said there was something wrong with me if I didn’t like sex.’ She looked at her mother the way helpless animals did. There was nothing Claire could do or say to bring her daughter in from the rain.

These kids were wrong and that was hurting both Charlie and Claire enough as it was.

‘There are plenty of people who don’t like sex, Charlie. It’s perfectly normal. These kids, honey, they are kids. They don’t know anything about the world.’

Charlie scrunched up her face, eyes squeezing closed. ‘How could it be normal if it’s everywhere. You and Dad go at it like … like … rabbits!’ Claire felt her cheeks burn. Owen was right, they weren’t discrete enough. ‘I can’t watch TV without seeing it. Mom, I don’t think I ever want to have sex. I don’t think it’s gross or it’s stupid or that boys have cooties. I just don’t  _want_  to. Why does it have to be this massively regulated part of society? Why do they shove it down everyone’s throats? It’s so fucking stupid.’  

She was struggling for what to say. Nothing was placating Charlie. She was only getting more agitated. What was Charlie trying so desperately to tell her that she didn’t have the understanding to comprehend.

‘You’re only seventeen, Charlie. You’ll meet  _someone_  one day and maybe it’ll all make sense to you.’ She praised herself on the ‘ _someone’_ , trying to communicate to Charlie that the world wasn’t always the prescribed norm of heterosexuality. Hell, both of her daughters had taken place in Lorna’s wedding when she married their  _new_  Aunt Kate. They were being raised in an accepting home. No one was going to think twice if either girl was interested in the opposite sex.

‘What if it doesn’t?’ Charlie quizzed, intense eyes staring holes into Claire’s weak statements.

Claire shrugged, ‘It will’.

Charlie shook her head again, red hair licking flames across her face. ‘You’re not listening to me.’ Her tears were hot on her cheeks, fresh as they slid across her skin.

‘Explain it to me then. Plain and simple.’ Claire asked, desperate to understand what was going on in her teens head. Charlie never cared about another persons opinion unless it was negative and not entirely deserved. She got into too many fights that way. It was rattling Claire how much her daughter was affected by this.

‘I don’t like the boys at school … or the girls … I’m not attracted to  _anyone_ and this dumb ass bitch is sitting there telling me I’m nothing because I don’t want to do the naked pretzel with these  _morons_  who only want to go share with all their friends what pussies they’ve seen. Nothing is a fucking secret at that school. I kid you not, Mom, I could draw you a diagram of everyone who has fucked someone else. And they want to pressure me into that party? Are you kidding? I feel like shit enough already because  _I-just-don’t-want-too_  and I’ve  _tried.’_ Claire had her head in her hands, sigh heavy from deep within her chest no doubt at Charlie’s language than anything else. ‘I just needed to get caught so you and Dad could … I don’t know …  _ground_  me … never let me within ten feet of a boy. Banned from parties until I’m twenty-three. Something that gives me a legitimate excuse to stay away from these dick weeds before I’m forced into something I  _will_  regret. Please, Mama?’ Claire didn’t miss the way Charlie said her name like she was a little girl again, turning wide wet eyes on her mother in a desperate plea.

She had to be proud, first, of the daughter she raised strong-willed and understanding of her own personal struggles. Charlie knew she was going to regret whatever she did if left alone with a boy and pressured into having sex with him all to appease a certain group of girls at school. There were no teachers they could talk to on this, no principle meetings. Charlie rather melt right into the floor before that happened. Hell, she rather be caught, shirtless, boy on top of her by her  _father_  than go to her teaching faculty.

She was resourceful, Claire would give her that.

It was the deep seeded emotional distress that was throwing Claire off. The desperate need in her daughter’s eyes to be  _helped_  beyond what was happening in the schoolyard. ‘I want you to go talk to Aunt Lorna about this.’ Claire offered, at a loss of how else to help Charlie. Her sister-in-law struggled with her sexual identity for years. Claire hoped she could help.

Charlie nodded. ‘Am I grounded?’ She asked, winking softly as she laughed through the still wet tears on her face.

Claire nodded, a grin spreading across her cheeks as she leant in. With a forceful tug, she pulled Charlie into her arms, girl collapsing into her mother’s lap as she wrapped herself around Claire. ‘You know, Dad’s going to ground you for real?’ Claire asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘I don’t think I want him to know the truth. He’ll go full Hulk and I’m too tired to deal with it.’ She sighed, revelling in the touch of Claire’s hands through her hair. ‘Mom?’ Claire hummed. ‘Markus is a good guy. He’s actually my friend. He kinda knows that I didn’t want to do it. Just not that I was planning on being caught.’

Claire chuckled, ‘Oh baby, he’s never going to be allowed in this house’. She kissed the top of her daughter’s head unsure of how much she trusted Markus’ good qualities. ‘Can’t he just lie for you? If he’s such a good friend?’

Her daughter shifted in her lap, ‘I’ll save that for Plan D’. It worried Claire to hear her daughter had accumulated four plans. How many of them had she gone through in order to evade these girls pushing a socially expected norm on her?

‘Charlie.’ Claire started, voice stern. ‘I want you to own who you are. You’ve never once faltered in doing that and I don’t these other kids to break that streak. You are an amazing young person and I am so proud to be your mom.’ She squeezed Charlie to the best of her ability, the girl’s head in her lap. ‘These people are temporary. One day you won’t even be able to remember their names. Don’t work so hard to make them like you. Your education is far too important for that.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Have you been talking to Dr Larkin about this?’ She shook her head. ‘I think it might be worth your while to see what she has to say on this.’ The girl hummed, promising to bring it up at her next appointment.

Charlie Grady had been seeing a shrink once a month for nine years. Their sessions started out as more frequent affairs but once they sorted the base issues of Max’s passing Charlie’s doctor didn’t think she needed to come in as frequently. In fact, she had stopped going all together for a year a little while ago until she started getting into fights at school. Claire didn’t like the idea of her daughter having a permanent shrink but the need was there for Charlie to have someone to talk to. For the most part, it was working.

‘Do you want me to go for a walk or something so you can Dad can still have your lunch break? I can stay in my room, put my headphones on?’ Claire chuckled, sound catching them both by surprise.

‘I think the mood is ruined.’ She brushed the hair off Charlie’s cheek, giving her daughter a reassuring smile.

Charlie frowned, ‘Sorry’.

‘It’s okay. You come first.’

‘Well,’ Charlie started, confidence sliding back into place. This was the daughter Claire knew well, her bright, entitled, opinionated child. ‘It’s not okay. Just because I don’t want to have sex doesn’t mean you and Dad shouldn’t. Maybe I can take Ellie to the park on the weekend or something. I’ll do it whenever. Just let me know.’ She offered, smile generous.

‘I’m not going to start telling you when your father and I plan to have sex, Charlie, but thanks for the offer.’

The girl shrugged, ‘You’re not that subtle anyway. I can take a hint.’

Downstairs a door slammed, a loud reminder that Owen was still in the house and  _fuming_  over what had happened. It was only a matter of minutes before Charlie’s bedroom door opened again, Owen standing in the doorway. He was fighting every urge in his body, every want to raise his voice and go ballistic. He wouldn’t. Charlie knew that.

‘I don’t care what your mother has said. But, boys, Charlie, not happening. I don’t want them in my house, I don’t want them near you and I especially don’t want them near your sister. You’re banned. I can’t control what you do when you go to college but you’re not having sex while you’re still living under my roof.’ He was red in the face, fists still curled into angry hands.

Charlie nodded. ‘Okay.’ She agreed making her father double take as he stared at her.

‘Just ‘ _okay’_? You’re not going to fight me on this?’

She shrugged, ‘You’re right. Boys are stupid and irresponsible. I should wait.’ She could feel her mother trying to suppress a laugh, Charlie dead serious as she looked her father in the eye. ‘One question though?’ He nodded, waiting. ‘What about hockey? And karate? Am I allowed to be near boys when it regards sports? Because that’s kind of unavoidable.’  

Owen nodded, agreeing with Charlie’s statement. Her sports clubs were filled with boys her age, her teams unisex for most games. He couldn’t control that. ‘C’mon, get in the car. I’ll take you back to school.’

Claire spoke before Charlie could shake her head, ready to beg and plead with her father. ‘Ah, no. Actually, I forgot it was pupil free day today.’ She lied, Owen accepting it freely as he nodded.

‘It won’t happen again, Dad.’ Charlie promised sitting up as she offered him a weak smile.

Claire had no reason to doubt her daughter. Charlie had been tricky in the past, she liked to lie and misinform but this was something she was being honest about. They wouldn’t catch her again and Claire had peace of mind that her daughter would always be safe when out alone.

Owen only nodded, the same nonverbal thing his father did. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Come dinner time he and Charlie would be back to being best friends, the afternoon's events completely forgotten.

She would tell him one day when they had some time to themselves to address the issues their daughters were facing. For now, Charlie’s personal struggles would be safe with Claire. If she didn’t want to raise it with her father her mother could honour that for a little while. It wouldn’t make Owen think of her any differently. In fact, he would probably be pleased to hear Charlie wasn’t interested in the hormonal rush everyone else was feeling. He’d probably reward her; buy her car or pay for that overseas trip she was desperate to go on.

For now, she was still their little girl. Both parents bruised and wounded at the coming realisation that she wasn’t so little anymore.


	192. #192 - Charlie and the Proposal

‘No, Mama.’ Charlie sighed with a small laugh, two-years-old and already thinking her mother silly. Claire just smiled, watching her daughter’s little hand reach for hers. She plucked the cat figurine out of her mother’s hand only to replace it with a child. 

The sun was warm over their heads as a cool breeze whistled through the leaves in their yard. It was the perfect spring day, sunscreen thick across Charlie’s young cheeks. Claire had started her morning in the garden, still trying to nurture vegetables to life in a small plot she planted a little while after Charlie was born. They were, for her efforts, flourishing. It had ended when Charlie came back from her Saturday morning swimming lessons with Owen, child dragging out the box of her _Little People_ toys only to dump them in the grass. 

Owen followed behind her five minutes later with a hat for their daughter and bottle of sunscreen for the fair skinned women in his life. Happy that they were being sun smart, Owen left them to play claiming the house needed maintenance while he didn’t have two women bothering him. Claire only rolled her eyes, shifting her attention from the garden to Charlie’s toys. 

When she picked up a black kitten, dancing the toy in her hands as she meowed once for Charlie’s amusement. 

‘Which one can I play with?’ She asked her daughter, surveying the child’s large collection. When had she accumulated so much? Charlie was only two and yet she had more _Little People_ than she could carry. The girl traded the kitten for another figure, this one human and feminine with blonde hair and a blue dress. 

‘Its you, Mama!’ Charlie declared proudly. ‘You can have that one. No more.’ The girl shook her head, turning her back on Claire as she returned to the plastic zoo her father had bought for her birthday. The toy itself came with a few zoo like animals, a crocodile and monkeys but Charlie had now filled its tree boughs with kittens and ponies. Stretched a few inches across the yard sat a farmhouse that Owen had carried out with Charlie’s had and the rest of their sun protection. Charlie gleefully pushed all the buttons on her interactive boys, letting their spring mid morning be filled with the electronic sound of barnyard animals and childlike giggles. 

Claire turned back to weeding her garden, happy that Charlie was content touching a sheep to the button in the pigsty and squealing madly at her young sense of humour. She called to Claire occasionally, an easy ‘ _Mama, look,_ ’ as she did it again, gaining affirmation at her silly mind for the sheep that made the toy _oink_. 

This was what she wanted. When finally forced to sit down and daydream about the reality brewing in her belly. Claire dreamt of wistful weekends with an easy going toddler happy to do their own thing as Claire did hers, side by side. Charlie, who had exceeded their expectations in intelligence held her right to be a little bit of a nightmare. Claire considered that her fault, dimly blaming her mental state for their child’s ability to act out without a cue. She was unpredictable, temperamental and all around a rollercoaster ride. But, for the most part, she was Claire’s biggest joy. It took them two years to get to that place, Claire and Owen finding a balance between their individual lives and their joined one to meet together in order to provide the best they could for their daughter. They had it, finally, warmth filling their home alongside the smell of Owen’s cooking and baby shampoo; Charlie fresh from the bath. 

She was independent. Something her parents both loved and feared in the two-year-old potentially growing up too quickly. It had its benefits. Charlie didn’t want to be coddled. She wanted to play in the proximity of her parents, knowing they were there to fill her needs but not necessarily invade on her headspace. 

Owen was the one she wanted to interact with more. Owen was the one who was allowed to play her games. He had the pick of all Charlie’s little plastic figurines; human and not. Claire was designated a character, a story, a place in the world that wasn’t always present. Charlie was trying to control her, limiting her actions and abilities, testing the waters. Claire found that she didn’t mind. It struck a chord in her chest that the little girl felt a need to treat her differently, not as wholly trusting as she was with her father. She, to an extent, understood that she deserved that treatment. 

‘Fix it?’ Charlie asked, sliding herself into Claire’s lap, awkwardly stepping over her mother’s arms, the woman bent towards her veggie patch. The toddler was holding another part of her surprisingly large collection. A fisherman’s boat, crustaceans were pressed into the plastic on the side making the toy more tactile than Claire had initially realised as Charlie’s little fingers pushed at the deck.

Claire could see the problem immediately. The deck of the boat flipped, allowing the surface to change themes of some kind but there was something lodged underneath it making it nearly impossible to flip the panel. Charlie nudged her small fingers in the way, blocking Claire’s view. She wanted to be impatient with the girl, eager to fix the problem but her heart was swelling with a pride that wouldn’t allow Claire to be angry. Charlie came to her for help. Owen was only inside and they both knew it. It would have taken nothing for Charlie to pick up her broken toy and run it in to her father. Instead, she squished her little body into her mother’s lap and asked quietly if she could fix the issue. 

‘What did you get stuck in there, baby?’ Claire asked, tilting her head to see around Charlie’s cheek as the little girl shrugged. There was something stuck in the belly of the boat, preventing the panel from its usual 360-degree flip. Claire couldn’t place what it was, going off touch it was solid, fuzzy almost but definitely not a dead animal as she had feared upon first touch. 

‘Treasure?’ Charlie responded, not quite sure as she held onto the body of the boat quite uselessly. Although puzzled, Claire couldn’t help but laugh at Charlie’s statement, kissing the girls temple in response. 

Claire fiddled with the toy until a frustrated grunt made Charlie pull away from her. The little girl asked quietly if she should ask her daddy for help. Claire was quick to shake her head, promising her daughter she could fix the toy without Owen. 

‘I need you go get the screwdriver from Daddy’s toolbox, do you think you can do that?’ Claire asked, watching as Charlie nodded. ‘We don’t need Daddy, just his screwdriver.’ She made sure to remind the girl, knowing that Owen would be out there and saving the world in under two minutes. Charlie nodded again, promising she understood as she pushed herself from Claire’s lap and ran inside. 

She wasn’t hopeful that the little girl wouldn’t return without Owen. Waiting for Charlie to come back felt like a century, her hands still trying to squeeze the object out from underneath the panelling. It was jammed. There was no way she was getting that out without some aid. The screws on either end seemed to promise that the panel would just lift off if loosened. Claire prayed that was her answer. 

‘Claire?’ It was Owen’s voice, masculine and concerned as he curled his body around the back door, Charlie slipping past his legs. ‘Any reason why she needs a screwdriver?’ He asked eyebrow raised as their daughter ran between them, tool raised above her head and wobbling with her steps. 

‘Trying to fix something.’ She told him, waving the toy at shoulder height before announcing that she didn’t need help. He had offered. Claire was determined to do it herself. She waved him off and Owen disappeared back inside. _‘Shout if you need anything’_ followed his departure. 

Charlie sat with her legs spread out in front of her, blue eyes intensely watching her mother’s hands as Claire loosed one screw after the other until they had fallen into the palm of her hands. It took turning the boat upside down and a gentle shake for the panel to fall off, landing flat in the grass with the boat's treasure. It was a small jewellery box, suede and red. Charlie tried to snatch it, no longer interested in her broken boat as Claire scooped the box into her hand before the child could reach it. 

‘What is this?’ She turned to Charlie, palm open, showing the girl the item she found. Charlie only gave her wide eyes. ‘Where did you get it?’ The girl pointed to the boat. ‘Before that, Charlie.’She shrugged, memory suddenly failing her despite always remembering when her parents had promised ice-cream and hadn’t delivered. ‘Does it belong to you?’ Charlie nodded then quickly shook her head when Claire felt her glare deepen. 

The point of the matter was, Claire had thought her daughter went snooping in her wardrobe, pinching things from the bottom drawer that contained jewellery Claire didn’t wear frequently enough. She couldn’t recall owning a red box but it had to be the only place Charlie acquired it. 

‘It’s Daddy’s.’ She told her mother quietly, reaching for the box again as Claire frowned. 

Curiosity got the better of her. She couldn’t help it. The lid was practically begging to be opened as the suede burnt a hole in her hand. Claire popped the lid, small box snapping open to reveal a generous diamond ring. 

She knew what it was in a heartbeat, didn’t even need to slip the ring from the box to find the small engraving specifically tailored for her. _We stick together._ She saw it anyway, shock causing her small hands to pull it out to inspect the rose gold further. The diamond was a solitaire cut with a delicate pattern etched into the exterior of the band. 

Claire’s heart was living in her throat, her stomach sliding in the opposite direction as she felt her lungs cease working. Her heart was pounding, thumbing in her ears so loud Claire was sure the world could hear it. 

Owen had proposed five times in three years. 

He asked her to marry him the morning after she revealed her pregnancy. They had spent the majority of the night arguing but when he woke everything was clear. Owen knew what he wanted. She turned him down. Claire refused to be a duty just because they had been reckless. Owen proposed a second time, Claire curled into his side, as they watched a movie the night they found out their baby was going to be a girl. He couldn’t focus on what they were watching, too busy daydreaming about a little girl exactly like her mama. Claire said no. She wanted him to propose because of her and not the baby. That didn’t stop him from prosing a third time after Charlie was born, Claire exhausted, new baby finally settled. In fact, he had proposed multiple times in Charlie’s first week but Claire was too tired to remember them all. It had become a game. He wasn’t really serious. Claire felt it was a mix between the two; Owen proposing out of duty and adoration for Charlie. They could function as a family without the white dress and expensive dinner. The fourth time he proposed was at Charlie’s first birthday. Claire could have said yes. She felt the same way he did. But, she said no waving him off with a roll of her eyes like it had all become a big game between them. They both ignored the hurt in his eyes. The fifth time he proposed was the afternoon Claire suggested they have another baby. She had waved him off once again, promising they couldn’t get married, not when she had other things to think about. 

Every time he got down on one knee or turned to her an asked if she would marry him, Owen never had a ring. But the box in her hand proved that he had bought one at some point … or recently and had intended to use it. 

There was a bird sitting on the bough of the tree in their yard. It whistled at her, singing a springtime song as Claire sucked in a deep breath. The universe was telling her what was right and wrong and proving how far she had come. It all started to settle, the ground solid beneath her feet, Charlie sweet at her side and Owen the best thing Claire had encountered. 

‘Can you line your animals up for me? Favourites at the front?’ She asked Charlie, distracting the girl as she pushed off the ground and started to move for the house. 

The grass, somewhat damp had pressed wet stains into her old jeans, knees and backside soaked as Claire wiped her dirty hands against the denim on her hips. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, all the air trapped in her lungs nothing coming or going as she searched the house. 

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ Owen stopped her, appearing from the small hallway behind her, his hands on Claire’s hips as he turned her towards him. She didn’t realise she was shaking, breathing hurried until he was in her vicinity, his own heart rate starting to climb. ‘Is Charlie okay?’ He asked, worry louder than he expected as Claire nodded, a hand firmly on his chest to clam him. 

‘I want to get married.’ She told Owen, clear as day and calm despite her physical reaction. The man jolted, body jumping as he pulled his head back, trying to get a better look at her. His hand lifted from her hip, pressing the back of his palm to her forehead. 

He joked if she was feeling okay accept the worry was very evident in his voice. ‘What made you want that?’ He asked, for two and a half years he tried to get her to want him as a husband. She had always been firmly on the no side of the fence. A voice in the back of his head told Owen she was pregnant. They were trying, haphazardly, pulling a _no contraceptives lets see what happens_ method. They already had one let down. Maybe this was it, a second chance. 

Claire wordlessly raised her palm and showed him the ring box. 

Owen stared at it. ‘Where’d you find that?!’ He asked, looking at her with wide eyes like it was a goddamned miracle. 

‘Did you lose it?!’ She asked, alarmed as he reached for it, Claire’s fingers closing around the box. 

Owen nodded. ‘Yeah, a few months ago. I don’t know, I thought … hell, I don’t know what I thought.’ Something in his gut knew it hadn’t ventured too far. Claire knew if Owen suspected a break in he would have said something. The man simply _misplaced_ it. Part of him thought maybe Claire had found it and was waiting for the right moment to spring it on him. 

‘You lost it!’ Claire heard her voice raise, laughter bubbling in with her anxiety as she took a step away from him. ‘You’re unbelievable.’ 

‘Hey, I’ve had that ring for eighteen months and I only _just_ lost it.’ He scratched his hand over the back of his neck, sheepish immediately as Claire’s laughter sobered. 

‘You’ve had it how long?’

‘Since Charlie was six-months-old.’ 

‘Why didn’t you ever give it to me?’ Claire frowned, he had proposed since then.

She didn’t want it. He told her. Over and over and over again he asked and asked and got down on his knee more times than he could count. Sure, sometimes Owen had been joshing her and others he was serious. He didn’t want to pull out the ring and completely knock her for six. Where Owen _did_ want to marry Claire there was a large part of him that knew a proposal would be far more _real_ if he used the ring. If she said no while he had that box in his hand, lid open, he’d never be able to look at it again. It would be the final nail in the coffin of his hopes. 

‘Why do you want to get married now but not every other time I’ve asked?’ She could see he was annoyed, anger bubbling behind his eyes despite his best efforts. 

Claire shrugged, pulling away as she fought her thoughts. ‘Today.’ He blinked at her. ‘It’s just been a really beautiful day.’ Claire shrugged again. ‘It felt right, Owen. I wasn’t pulling my hair out thanks to Charlie. She asked for my help. You were letting us bond. No one was fighting. The sun is out, the birds are singing it just felt _right_. I want to marry you. I _wanted_ to marry you but you never asked me properly.’ She added that the little girl had the ring the whole time it was missing, using it as the treasure for her fishing boat. 

‘I never asked you properly?!’ His voice raised, disbelief appearing on his face. ‘You have got to be kidding me, Claire.’ 

She shook her head. ‘Don’t ruin this.’ She told him with a warning tone, sigh falling from her with disappointment. 

‘No, I’m sorry, I’m going to reserve the right to be annoyed about this. You can’t honestly tell me that I let you knock me back time and time again because it just wasn’t _right_. We have a kid, Claire, a house, a life together —-‘ She held up her hand, stopping him. 

‘I get it, you’re annoyed but I’m going to stop you right there before you say something I know you don’t mean.’ His mouth opened and closed like a fish caught in a vase, staring lifelessly at her as he fought the urge to fight back. Claire didn’t give Owen the opportunity, instead, she turned, disappearing out the back door as she called Charlie’s name. ‘We’re going to lunch?’ She told him easily, the child on her hip, his invitation void from the conversation. 

Owen needed to cool off, frustration still twitching in the tips of his fingers. 

He couldn’t help it. Claire was arguably the best thing that ever happened to him. Sure, they had their ups and downs but he wasn’t going to change it for anything in the world. He felt it was an insult to injury that she didn’t want to marry him, knocking him back every time he asked. He could take it then, hell, he even understood. But now she suddenly wanted what he had been asking for and that pissed him off. 

Owen was being selfish. He knew it. He knew every time he asked the question what the answer was going to be from the very first second. Claire put herself first. She didn’t do anything unless she was convinced it would work and Charlie was the first time she stepped out of that comfort zone. He knew he couldn’t push her. Everything ran on Claire’s time. It was by her comfort they lived their lives and Owen knew the second she felt it wasn’t working anymore he would be out of the picture. 

It was Claire’s world and he was just lucky enough to live in it. Owen adored what they had, he loved Charlie and was grateful for their relationship but he wanted more. He wanted the sentimentality of his ring on her finger no matter how many times she said no. His stubborn will for tradition was going to get him in the doghouse … if Owen wasn’t already there by the time Claire came home. 

[…] 

She returned angrier than she had left. Charlie’s belly full with a lunch out and her small arms carrying a brand new toy. Claire pinpointed _how_ exactly her daughter had managed to accumulate such a grand collection. The _Little People_ were an apology gift for parental arguments. Charlie was none the wiser. 

Owen met them like a kicked puppy in the living room, hands fidgeting with a spanner as he appeared from the garage not quite meeting Claire’s eye. She pushed past him, hands full of grocery bags as she ignored his existence. 

‘Look Daddy!’ Charlie was happy to acknowledge him, holding the toy above her head as she jumped on the spot to get his attention. 

‘Is that a school bus?’ He asked her. Charlie nodded, bringing the toy down as she sat on the floor giddy to show her father the new toy and all it’s features. ‘Is Mama okay?’ He asked his daughter quietly, sitting in the middle of the hallway with her as he lowered his voice. 

He could see Claire in the kitchen, angrily unpacking her shopping as she slammed the fridge door and smacked a pan down on the counter. 

She couldn’t hear them. Charlie raised a hand lightly tapping her forehead with it. ‘Mama said you’re silly in the head.’ She told her father easily before trying to distract him with the toy again, making the plastic sing as she pressed down on the drivers seat. Owen had no doubt that Claire had heard every noise that toy made as Charlie discovered it in the car. In the kitchen, she played in different. 

Owen helped Charlie tear the cardboard away from her new toy, loosening off the ties in the packaging before the bus and it’s driver were free. ‘Can you pack up your toys outside?’ He asked and Charlie nodded easily picking herself up to continue playing in the sun. 

Claire ignored him, pretending Owen hadn’t stepped into the kitchen or her space as she conveniently moved out of his reach. ‘Hey.’ He tried to grab her attention. Claire wasn’t going to fall for it. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, okay?’ She stopped, knife dropping to the counter as she span towards him. 

‘You damn well better be sorry, Owen Grady.’ He sighed, cocking his hip against the counter as his large hand reached out to pinch a few sugar snap peas from her bunch on the chopping board. Owen nodded. He was. ‘Who the hell were you turning this into an argument?’ She snapped, glaring at him as he shrugged. 

‘God, Claire, had I known seeing the ring would have been all it took for you to say yes then I would have given it to you two years ago.’ 

She shook her head. ‘You really don’t listen.’ 

‘Tell me then, what am I missing?’ 

‘It was never the right time.’ She had raised her arms. ‘You asked because you felt you had to, every single time because you wanted the family unit and not just me. I get that it will never be just me anymore, not now that we have Charlie but one day she won’t be here anymore. What then?’ He didn’t respond. Owen knew enough to understand Claire fearing she would not be enough one day. ‘You know how seriously I take this. I needed affirmation, Owen. I needed to know you were asking because it was me, because there would be no one else. I needed to know if I gave you everything I would get it all back in return. _I_ above everything else needed to know, within my head and my heart that this was the right move.’ 

He wasn’t going to argue that she wanted another baby, that Charlie was two-years-old and Claire should have figured out what she wanted by now. He tried not to get angry that she was using him to play house until she got bored of it. Owen lived the last two years in fear that he would wake up without Claire, left with a baby and no clue as to where her mother went. It was a miracle, he considered, that she was still waking up beside him every morning. 

They weren’t perfect. Owen knew that. He loved her for needed things written in concrete before she committed herself to it completely. 

‘I just realised that I’ve been holding you at a distance this whole time because I was scared of what would happen if we finally went all the way. My family doesn’t do happily ever afters, Owen. It doesn’t work. _We_ don’t work half the time. I mean, seriously, we’re fighting over marriage. How is Charlie going to turn out after a few more years of this?’ She stopped, fingers threaded together as she watched her thumbs fidget. ‘Where I am scared out of my mind, it doesn’t seem to matter because I love you. I want the whole fairy tale as irrational as it sounds. You’re always telling me to take a chance; on you, on Charlie and on the future. I should have listened earlier but I am listening now. I want to marry you.’ 

Owen shuffled, hands sliding into his pockets as he retrieved the red _James Allen_ box and extended it to her. Claire shook her head. 

‘You have to do it properly.’ 

He frowned, the expression drawing deep lines down his face. Owen shook it away, sliding down onto one knee as he looked up at her. Claire took a step away from him, shaking her head as the fingers of one hand picked at the other. 

‘You can’t propose now. I’m still really angry with you.’ She told him bluntly, taking another step back as she peered out the window behind the kitchen sink, eyes seeking out Charlie alone in the yard. Owen grunted, the sound irritated in the back of his throat and definitely louder then he intended. ‘I want you to propose, Owen, I do. You just need to do it properly. When the moment is right, but, I promise I will say yes this time.’ She was telling him not today, maybe even not that week and he was trying the best he could to swallow his pride and accept that. 

Owen shoved the box back into his pocket as he stood to his full height. ‘I won’t let Charlie run off with it this time.’ He told her, eliciting a laugh from the woman who allowed him to pull her into his arms. Owen kissed the top of her head fondly, feeling the way his chest eased as she let him back into the comfort of her embrace. 

Things were rocky but they sorted them out in the end. She wanted to marry him. Wanted the whole 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. He knew he would have to persuade her on the dog argument but right now he couldn’t get his heartbeat back in sync. 

‘Charlie’s climbing the tree again.’ Claire pushed away from his chest with an unsurprised sigh, already rushing towards the door before she could announce what tore her attention away. 

Standing in the kitchen, heart jumping erratically, Owen couldn’t help but laugh. What they had was manageable and he adored it. 

[…]

It took him weeks to find the perfect opportunity. He could tell Claire was trying to anticipate his move, the both of them hyperaware that it could happen at any given moment. Owen contemplated making her wait months, a year maybe but he didn’t want to give Claire room to change her mind. 

He packed a picnic dinner, dressing Charlie for the park as Claire planned to meet them after she dropped by the house to change.

It was Claire’s idea. The sun had been shining all day, tempting office workers to step out into the grass, barefoot and carefree. She longed to be out there, jealous of Owen’s mostly outdoor job that kept his skin golden brown and his hair light. She wanted to spend the evening outside, watching the sunset from the park by the beach as her daughter played. 

She met them there, Owen already set up on the grass with a picnic blanket. Charlie was already eating hands full of fruit, shirt messy as she squealed upon sight of her mother. She ran, colliding into Claire’s legs, slice of watermelon in her hand as the girl nibbles on it. 

‘We’re at the park!’ Charlie exclaimed in case her mother hadn’t noticed that they weren’t at home or anywhere other than where they currently were. Claire picked her up effortlessly, long ago losing her fear of ruining her clothes to sticky fingers. Instantly, she felt Charlie’s wet fingers on her bare shoulders, little girl fiddling with the spaghetti strap of her mother’s maxi dress. She pressed a kiss to Charlie’s watermelon soaked cheek. 

‘Hungry?’ Owen asked as she approached him, his hand raising to her hip to keep her steady as she tried to lower herself to the picnic blanket. 

‘Starved.’ She answered with a kiss, smiling against his soft greeting as Charlie climbed off her lap. 

Owen handed over an apple and raspberry salad for the woman he knew was still trying to watch her figure. He and Charlie had sandwiches filled with the lot, a spare in the hamper just for Claire because he knew she would cave and ask for the last of his. ‘Brought this too.’ Owen reached into the picnic basket, pulling out a bottle of Claire’s favourite champagne. 

‘You’re the best.’ Claire grinned, leaning in for another kiss before she turned to Charlie. ‘Isn’t Daddy the best, baby?’ Charlie nodded, her little hands squeezed around a juice box. 

They wouldn’t let Charlie move from the blanket until she finished her dinner, little girl itching to climb the playground with the other kids. She was gone before her parents could acknowledge her meal was finished, already climbing the play equipment as Owen poured Claire another glass of champagne. 

‘This was a good idea.’ She hummed, leaning against his side as Owen wrapped his arm around her middle. They tried to get out, to do things as a family not only on weekends. Claire had forgotten how much of winter kept them in doors, reserved to doing things so long as a roof was over their heads or the off chance that it wasn’t raining or too windy. She hadn’t realised how much they needed the warmer weather. ‘Has she got sunscreen on?’ Owen nodded, promising he had lathered the girl in more than she needed. ‘You know,’ she started again, her head on his shoulder. ‘I spent all day watching the clock. I just wanted to come home to the two of you.’ 

Owen kissed her temple, sighing easily as he let her words soak over him. Charlie called out to them, begging that they watch as she went down the slide, adults cheering when she looked to them for praise.

‘I can’t wait until we have two of them.’ 

‘Why don’t we make our family offical in the meantime?’ Owen asked, turning towards her but careful not to disrupt Claire, his hand holding the ring box. He was sure he heard a sharp intake stab at her lungs. Owen took her by surprise. ‘I would get down on one knee, but we’re both already sitting.’ He teased, kissing her temple again, spare hand rubbing her back. 

Claire pulled away, standing on her knees only so she could lean in, both hands on his cheeks and kiss him fully. ‘Ask me.’ She told him. 

‘Claire Adelaide Dearing, will you marry me?’ Every time he said those words he felt hopeful, sure she was going to say yes and every time she let him down. Owen didn’t feel the need to squash the feeling this time. He knew what her answer was going to be as her lips curled into a brilliant smile their faces only inches apart. 

‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’ She kissed him, fingers tight against his ears as Owen’s hands wound around her back. She watched him, her hands shaking once they pulled away, Owen trying to slide the ring onto her finger. She couldn’t keep still, despite knowing it was coming, knowing that she wanted it the adrenaline pounded heavy in her veins. ‘Owen —’ she drew his attention from her hands to her face as he hummed, concentration furrowed between his brows. ‘—I’m pregnant.’ 

Instantly, Owen pulled her into his arms, Claire collapsing in his lap as he peppered her face with kisses joy bouncing in his chest. ‘It’s only going to get better from here, babe.’ He kissed her again, touch filled with promises as Owen revelled in the weight of Claire in his lap, Charlie calling out their names again as she waved them down from the top of the slide. 

This was how it was supposed to be and it would continue to remain that way. 


	193. #193 - One Word Prompt: Strip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONE WORD PROMPT 
> 
> ANON: strip

‘Strip.’ He commanded, reclined on the bed in his tux from that night, the bowtie loose around his neck and buttons undone. His arms were crossed behind the back of his head, propping himself up to offer a better view. 

He had already unbuttoned the back of her dress, leaving Owen with a view of porcelain skin speckled with freckles as Claire stood at the bathroom vanity. The door was wide open, the bed directly in front of it leaving Owen with countless nights of watching her evening routine. There was nothing left a mystery between them anymore. 

Her eyes met his in the mirror, Claire quirking a brow as Owen nodded. She was questioning how genuine he was and Owen wasn’t going to back down. She put her earrings on the counter and turned towards him slowly. 

The dress she wore that night was made from panels of lace. There was so much of her body on display in a form fitted bodice and waistline cut to her curves. The lace was thin from her arms to all the way down her sides before it reached the end of the dress. He could see the bones of the bodice, lace thin under her breasts and to her hips. The whole thing was a tease, Claire decadent in black with skin showing despite her floor length gown. 

He knew she wasn’t wearing underwear. The dress wouldn’t allow it without revealing lines and that thought alone had been driving him mad all night. Finally home, Owen had Claire exactly where he wanted her. 

She strutted towards him, steps calculated, her eyes glued to his before her movements stopped as she reached the end of the bed. The gown was loose on her shoulders, a result of the back buttons having been undone already. Claire barely had to roll her shoulders for the fabric to drift, her arms lifting slightly to release her hands of the lace. 

‘Like this?’ She asked, playing shy for the hell of it, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she watched him with sultry eyes. Owen nodded, his eyes on her hands guiding the delicate fabric away from her chest, her hips doing little figure eights before it dropped, dress it a puddle at her feet. 

Claire raised her leg, hand moving to reach it as she tried to slide the heel off her foot. Owen stopped her; ‘Leave your shoes on.’ He commanded, knowing they were going to hurt but unwilling to have her remove them. She nodded, easily climbing over the end of the bed to stand on her knees in front of him. Owen grinned, smile sly as he remained where he was. He only pulled one hand away from his head, extending it towards her as she placed her small fingers in his palm. He encouraged her forward until Claire got sick of his instruction. 

She straddled his hips easily, years of experience washing over her as Claire lowered her face to his gently. She kissed him softly, shy like a flighty animal and he accepted it. His other hand move from his head, both finding the pinch of her hips below her ribs as his hands squeezed. Owen had a knack for touching her like it had been months since his calloused hands met her soft skin. It had only been a few hours since he slid his hands inside her dress and begged not to go to the stuffy black-tie event. She couldn’t help the shivers every time, her body humming that she was loved by a man who found himself addicted to her. 

His hand found her face, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek as his blue eyes bore into her green ones. His stare was so intense Claire had to blink in order to break the spell. ‘I love you.’ He told her earnestly, the words leaving his lungs like it was his last breath. She kissed him, shaking her head as she dismissed the words he said. 

She could have said them back. In fact, she had over and over for the last year. He didn’t always need to hear it back. Sometimes, Owen needed to be shown. 


	194. #194 - Triplet Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: would you write about the appointment where Owen and Claire find out its triplets?

She couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over the rim of her OJ glass. Her kitchen was full. Well, it was Owen’s kitchen but it lived in their shared home and was filled with sleepy-eyed boys with grumbling bellies in rumpled pyjamas. It smelt like pancakes, Owen at the stove cooking them to perfection in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. 

‘Oh, Mama Bear is up.’ He grinned at her, almost sensing that she had entered the room and propped herself up against the door jamb. Claire rolled her eyes. She wasn’t fond of the nickname at all but there was no stopping him. ‘Sleep well?’ He asked, breaking away from the stove to kiss her cheek, his hand finding the curve of her stomach. 

It startled her how quickly her body started to change. At twelve weeks she had a distinctive curve to her stomach. It wasn’t anything noticeable, not to strangers, employees or even her nephews who so much as forgot until Claire turned down a glass of wine at dinner. But, it was noticeable to Claire, glaringly so. They hadn’t even heard the baby’s heartbeat yet. They had one early scan a few weeks ago that her doctor flew through to make sure everything was stable before squeezing Claire’s arm and saying she’d see her again at twelve weeks for her dating scan. Much like her nephews, Claire _forgot_ she was pregnant apart from the moments she spends expelling her guts into the nearest bathroom or gripping onto walls to keep her dizzy spells from toppling her over. And when she did forget, in those peaceful moments of normalcy Owen was there rubbing her shoulders and calling her _Mama Bear_. 

It felt too sweet to be real. 

‘I did.’ She answered his question, her first uninterrupted night of sleep in a week or two. Claire was just thankful that her nephews were finally with them. She had spent weeks worrying about their arrival having them under her roof now made it easier to sleep. ‘Thanks for the OJ.’ She smiled at him, kissing him back as he pulled away, hands easily filled with the task of making breakfast. 

Owen, ever the perfect man, had left the glass of orange juice on her bedside table making it the first thing she saw when she woke up. ‘Morning boys.’ She hummed to her nephews, passing each of them as she kissed their bed ruffled hair. ‘My appointment is at 10 are you sure you’ll be okay for an hour?’ She asked, a concerned knot in her brow. They were teenagers, more than capable of being on their own for days at a time let alone a full hour. Claire just couldn’t help but feel like she was wasting their week away with a prescheduled appointment. Zach was starting college in a matter of weeks and she was scared the boys would stop coming. She would continue to see them, Claire knew that for birthdays and Christmas but these summer breaks Owen and Claire's weeks were going to come to an end far quicker than they had started and with a _baby_ on the way Claire knew that she would come up with her own excuses too. Gray was already talking about a summer program he wanted to attend the following year, he had even asked Owen’s permission over dinner if it was okay to miss the first week of their visit. They had said yes, without a doubt but Claire could feel something shifting between them. It took escaped dinosaurs to bring them back together she wasn’t too sure what would keep her nephews close once she lost them again. 

She knew she was being selfish, they were growing into men and there was no real reason why they would want to continue having sleepovers at their Aunt’s house over summer. She just didn’t want this to be the last year when it was only the second. 

Zach waved her off. ‘Seriously, Aunt Claire, we’ll be fine. Go to your appointment, take the whole morning. We were just going to sweet talk the Roberts’ into letting us use the pool.’ Her neighbours were big fans of the boys, as was their teenaged daughter. 

Claire levelled them with a look that asked they didn’t misbehave before she sighed. ‘I’ll let you know when we’re on our way back just promise if you decide to head out you tell us, okay?’ Zach did after all have a car sitting in the driveway. He and Gray were free to do as they pleased, Claire just didn’t like them going too far without her knowledge. Zach promised to text or call but ultimately vowed they wouldn’t go any further than the house next door. 

[…] 

‘I don’t know why you worry about maternal instincts when you’re clearly overprotective with the boys.’ Owen half whispered to her, their voices low in the waiting room of her doctor’s office. 

Claire didn’t look at him, she had her eyes subtly focused on another woman in the room her belly large and round well into her pregnancy — likely close to the end though Claire had no real experience in judging that from appearance. If she was being truthful, it scared her shitless that they were heading down this road, that she was set to be that round-bellied woman with a waddle in her step and nowhere to put her hands but on her growing bump. 

Owen tapped her wrist. ‘Claire?’ Her attention snapped back to him, eyes drawing away from the woman to her own hands one cupping her small bump. ‘You okay?’ He asked and she nodded easily offering him a wide smile. ‘I can’t help but worry.’ It was practically her middle name. That and control were hyphenated. ‘They’re getting so big, Owen. I’m starting to realise all the time I missed.’ 

‘Yeah, but you’re making up for it.’ 

‘They’re going to stop visiting.’ She told him, voice glum like it was the end of the world. 

Owen chuckled. ‘Well, I mean, Zach’s nineteen, he’s going to realise following pretty girls around all Summer is way _cooler_ than visiting us. He’ll do it once, realise it’s actually _stupid_ and come back. Gray, he already feels guilty about that science camp but it sounds like a cool opportunity. Karen’s willing to change around the days so we still get two weeks with him.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Besides, 12 months from now we’re going to have a five-month-old and sure, she’ll be sleep trained by then and way better behaved than the first few months of her life but no teenagers want to come spend time with a baby cousin. They’ll think we’re roping them in for free babysitting. Which I totally plan to take advantage of.’ 

‘We’re not leaving Gray with a baby.’ 

‘He’ll be fourteen!’ 

Claire shook her head, laughing as she dropped it gently to his shoulder. ‘Babysitters must be experienced with babies and older than twenty until she’s two or three then we can hire teenagers.’ Even then, Claire wasn’t eager on the idea. She trusted her nephew but knew it would be a silly idea to hand a baby to him for the night and walk away. 

‘Fine.’ Owen sighed like she had really pulled his arm on that one. ‘Don’t worry about the boys. They love you, Claire. They don’t need to come stay every year for that to remain true. You mended your bridges.’ She nodded again, agreeing with him quietly. She just couldn’t help but worry that her nephews would grow into men and start to hate her again. Claire was coming into a new stage of her life where she valued family above work and she would never be able to forgive herself if her nephews couldn’t forgive her first. 

[…]

‘Okay, Mom and Dad are we ready to hear baby’s heartbeat?’ Dr Carson asked, a bright grin plastered across her face as Owen and Claire nodded eagerly. It felt like they had been waiting for this for a lifetime. Owen could feel his own heart threatening to thud right out of his chest. He was scared. Just as terrified as Claire if not a little more. She hadn’t exactly announced her fears but he could easily guess what she was worried about. 

How were they going to make this work? 

They loved each other. That was for sure. He had no doubt that their relationship wouldn’t stand it but they had both not long ago agreed that they weren’t the kind for raising kids. Here they were. Owen was actually _excited_ like he had wanted this for a long time and was finally getting it. He couldn’t believe they were there. 

Claire was squeezing his hand, screen beside her filling with a graining black and white image as the doctor tried to pinpoint their child in her mother’s womb. ‘Here we go, here’s Baby Grad — _oh_.’ The confusion that caught the doctor drew the attention of the adults, Claire quickly reacting her whole body on high alert as she stared the other woman down. ‘Hang on a minute.’ It took Carson a few seconds, doppler moving as the image on the screen shifted and changed. 

‘Whats wrong?’ Claire asked, almost breathless panic already climbing across her mind. Owen squeezed her hand, seeking out his own reassurance as he tried to quietly calm her. 

Carson shook her head, smile back in place and climbing high. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Her smile widened. She turned back to the screen, doppler in one hand. ‘Here we have Baby Grady A.’ She tapped a finger to the screen pointing out a white space. ‘Baby Grady B.’ Another similar looking mark. ‘And Baby Grady C.’

‘Triplets?’ Claire asked, throat dry. 

The doctor nodded, her smile growing wide. ‘Congratulations.’ 

Something heavy hit the floor, a loud clattering followed it like things had been knocked from a surface in the process. When Claire turned her head from the ultrasound screen, she found Owen on the floor. 

Carson shrugged, ‘It happens’. He would come too in a minute, the trick was to stop him from passing out again. ‘You okay?’ She asked Claire who could only dumbly nod. ‘It’s a bit to take in, isn’t it?’ Claire nodded again. ‘I didn’t even realise, Claire, usually your hCG levels spike a little higher for multiples. I could have prepared you for this.’ 

Beside them, Owen grunted as Claire expelling a breath in relief that he was still alive. ’Do it again.’ Owen groggily came too, sitting upright immediately as he turned to the doctor. ‘Do the thing again.’ He moved his hands, trying to symbolise the doppler. ‘She’s not having _triplets._ ’ He told her, words convinced. 

Carson only smiled, helping Owen to a chair beside Claire’s bed. ‘Shall we look again?’ She asked him and the man nodded with conviction a delusional smug smile pressed across his lips like he knew better than the professional. Carson counted them out again, finger following the curve of each little head as she proved it to Owen over and over. 

He shook his head, mouth agape as a hand scratched through his hair. ‘We can’t. No. We’re not — three babies?’ It was Claire’s turn to laugh, sharp sound bubbling from her as her eyes squeezed closed. She couldn’t stop once she started, eyes watering despite not knowing if they were joyous or desperate tears, her hand gripping Owen’s fiercely. 

Carson nodded again for the both of them, Claire in hysterical laughter and Owen froze to the spot. ‘Would you like to hear their heartbeats?’ She asked and Owen nodded slowly. ‘They’re going to be a little fast and, Claire, I need you to take a deep breath and relax.’ Claire stopped laughing, immediately following instruction as she turned her eyes to Owen instead of the screen. 

In an instant, the room was filled with a rushing sound something like an off drum beat mixed with rushing water. His mind was in a million places and so was hers. Neither of them could focus on it but it was all they could hear. It beat loudly with the power of three little beings, creatures that were due to become their children and yet their parent's hearts had stopped. 

‘How are we going to do this?’ Owen turned to Claire, tears in his eyes, expression lost. One baby, they could handle, maybe even three kids eventually in a few years or so. But, three all at once? They could barely juggle their own schedules. 

‘Like we do everything else?’ Claire offered. ‘Together.’ 

It was so much more real with the sound whooshing around their ears, remaining persistent that they existed; that they would exist, eventually and very soon to parents who were completely out of their depth. 

‘Maybe we’ll need my mom too.’ Claire admitted quietly, eyes squeezed closed. She hated asking for help but they were going to need it now more than ever. 

‘You know when we were having sex the other night and you said you couldn’t get any more pregnant. I’d like to disagree now.’ He told her playfully, earning himself a smack in the stomach. 

[…]

‘How’d the appointment go?’ It was Karen, on the phone with a quizzical voice. Claire watched Gray do another dive bomb right into the pool, splashing everyone within a few feet, the Roberts’ daughter gleefully shrieking. ‘Gray told me something was off when you two came back. Everything okay? Do I need to make up an emergency to bring them home?’ 

Claire shook her head, easily laughing her sister off as she told Karen not to worry. ‘The appointment was fine just a little shocking.’ 

‘Shocking how?’ She could hear her sister pause on the other end, confused and alarmed all in one. ‘The first few scans are a little overwhelming but shocking? I don’t know.’ 

The youngest Dearing hummed, watching as Owen and Zach egged Gray on to splash bigger this time, hopefully enough to each Claire who was sitting safely out of reach. ‘I’m carrying triplets.’ Claire told Karen easily, word escaping her on an easy exhale. Owen must have heard her or sensed the conversation, man turning his head in the pool to smile at her softly. Claire, out of some inexplicable reflex winked and blew him a kiss. 

Karen was silent on the other end, Claire could hear the feet of a chair drag across the floor as her sister stuttered a response but failed for several minutes. ‘Claire — I mean, wow.’ 

Claire hummed, ‘I said it was shocking’. Her sister laughed bold and deep claiming it the understatement of the century. ‘Owen’s family have no history of multiples, neither does ours. I mean, this didn’t even cross our minds. We’re a little overwhelmed.’ Karen understood, explaining once again that she could make up some dodgy excuse to bring her sons home and out of Claire’s hair. ‘They’re providing a good distraction.’ Claire promised. ‘I’ll tell them later tonight, I hadn’t even noticed Owen and I were acting out.’ 

She could hear her sister shrug, ‘You know Gray, kid’ll notice anything’. Claire agreed, he had proved it too many times to count. It had been Gray who figured out she was pregnant well before Claire could get the news out. ‘Are you and Owen okay? News like that is pretty life altering.’ 

They were. It was scary, her heart skipped a beat then sped up every time she thought about it but as a unit they were fine. ‘We can do this,’ Claire told her sister proudly. ‘We’re a good team and we were ready for a baby; we’re still having a baby just three at once. I know it’s going to be tricky but Owen always has my back and I know he will never let me down.’ 

‘Yeah, the two of you are grossly in love like that.’ Karen teased, her tone light as she sarcastically commented on the fall of her relationship. ‘When are the two of you going to get married anyways? I mean, I know you’re waiting for the right reason but I think triplets is probably it.’ 

Claire barely responded to her sister. Instead, her eyes tracked Owen as he pulled himself out of the pool and rounded, his eyes on her, hands beckoning her forward. He stopped in front of the lounge chair she was in, dripping wet as he crooked a finger. 

‘I gotta go, Kare, I apparently need to have fun before the next eighteen years are completely monopolised by more kids than I have hands.’ Owen rolled his eyes, lip smirking as he nodded, Karen on the other end of the line roaring with laughter.

She was still learning about how to take time for herself away from work. Her mind was buzzing with the possibility of marrying the man who stood in front of her in stropping wet board-shorts, college tuition for _three_ children all in the same year and how on Earth they were going to manage it all financially, mentally and with the best parental techniques Claire had figured out she needed to put her worries down. They — she and Owen — would deal with each issue as it hit them. For now, while she still had a month or two of being able to control her body Claire should have been letting loose, having fun with her nephews while they were there and spending her last weeks worry free before they _really_ needed to think about how they would provide for triplets. 


	195. #195 - Charlie and the Christmas Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: We have a family tradition to walk the street and check out the Christmas lights with our kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m starting off with a Charlie and Elliot prompt because this is the 50th Charlie and Elliot fic and thought it may as well lead us into my Christmas countdown. The plan is to post a fic a day until Dec 25th. Let's see what happens.

They tried to uphold a few traditions when they had the girls, keeping Christmas as a time for family activities. They decorated the tree, made gingerbread houses and walked the streets on Christmas Eve trying to pic their favourite house.

Claire didn’t want the tree up that year. She didn’t want to visit family or have family come to her. She wanted out and away from the house and he had done everything in his ability to accommodate that  _after_  Christmas Eve. Owen would bend over backwards for his wife but he wasn’t passing up a seven-year-old tradition they started when Charlie was four-months-old.

‘Ready go!’ Elliot shrieked, little legs jumping up and down on the floorboards by the front door. She was chanting, calling her family to hurry up.

Owen tried to wrestle a cardigan onto the over-enthusiastic two-year-old, laughing at her as she tried to wriggle away from him before Owen caught her. He lifted her feet off the ground, holding Elliot to his hip as he draped her in warmer clothing for the setting sun. ‘What’s got you so impatient?’ He tickled the girl before putting Elliot on her feet.

‘The lights!’ The little girl announced, pulling on his hand as she turned towards the door. Owen chuckled, telling her to wait.

‘They’re going to be there all night, little one, patience.’ He turned towards the heart of the house, eyes scanning the staircase, the living room and the open arch of the kitchen. Empty. ‘Charlie, Claire, let’s go!’ He realised he sounded like his two-year-old in that moment, hollering the house down instead of calmly finding someone. They always stepped out the door at 5:30pm on the dot and it was currently 5:25pm with no sign of anyone. Claire appeared quickly, showing herself from the hallway behind the staircase, freshly dried cardigan in her hands as she shrugged. Charlie wasn’t with her.

There was always a problem with Charlie lately.

Owen sighed, telling his wife that he would deal with it as she stepped forward and took Elliot’s hand calmly. He took to the stairs knowing checking the first possible place she would be; her room. She was there, sitting on her bed with a book in her lap. ‘Lets go, kiddo.’ Owen called to her, clapping his hands to move her along as he smiled at the side of the girls head.

She was dressed, shoes on, feet handing off the bed as to not dirty her sheets as she slowly dragged her eyes up to his. ‘I’m not going.’ The little redhead told him with all the passion of her mother on a determined mission.

Owen forced a wide fake grin across his lips, half of it a grimace. ‘Hate to break it to you, but you’re seven.’ She blinked at him. ‘I’m not leaving you in the house alone.’

‘You’re only going to be in the street.’ She told him like he hadn’t known.

A thin smile replaced the grin. ‘That’s wonderful, doesn’t mean I’m leaving you here.’ She only blinked, the girl staring back at him fifteen-years-old and not seven. It was too early for puberty and too late for a fight in their night. ‘Charlie, it’s tradition we do it every year and Mr Brooks is going to turn the lights on at 5:45 on the dot. I need to see Ellie’s face when that happens.’ She shrugged. ‘You’re not getting a say in the matter.’ It wasn’t just Owen who wanted to catch the look on Elliot’s face the second the lights switched on, Charlie had been talking about it since June and when Max joined them in August she had quickly added her brother to the excitement of the tradition. Their plans had changed since then but their family getaway was still focused around still being home for their Christmas Eve tradition.

‘I don’t want to go.’ She tried harder, glaring at him like she could slam her door shut on his face with just her mind.

‘And I understand that Charlie but there’s no one to stay home with you and you’re not old enough to stay back by yourself.’ He wanted to sternly remind her that they had been doing this since a she was a baby and she was nowhere near old enough to decide it was  _uncool._

Charlie didn’t answer him, just stared at the now closed book on her bed blinking rapidly. She wasn’t crying but she was about to.

‘C’mon, your sister is getting restless.’ He could hear Elliot downstairs, little feet still jumping up and down undoubtedly holding onto her mother’s hand as she did so.

The girl crossed her arms over her chest, really channelling the future spirit of her teenage rebellion that had reared its head frequently in the last few months. ‘I told you, I am not going!’ She shouted face scrunched up.

He sighed, stepping into her room and dropping himself to her bed. ‘What’s going on? You love seeing the Christmas lights.’ She shook her head, pulling herself away from him. It took a second for the tears to break, bubbling down her cheeks in a split second as she buried her head in her arms. ‘Charlie,’ Owen’s voice was soft, ‘I need you to talk to me’.

‘I don’t want to go without Max.’ Owen could swear he stopped breathing, he shuffled closer to her, trying to pull Charlie into his lap as she shook her head. ‘It makes my heart hurt.’ He felt his Owen chest crack, Owen just wanted Charlie to stop hurting. He wanted this all behind them, not necessarily to forget but at least to heal.

‘I still can’t leave you here, baby.’ He really wanted to wrap his arms around her and crush the girl to his chest but she was fighting the contact and he wasn’t going to push it. ‘You need to come out and see the lights turn on. I need a half hour, Char-Char. We’re gonna walk to Nana and Grandad’s, have a hot chocolate and then you’ll be home and in bed before you know it. We’ll be on our holiday when you wake up.’

She shook her head lightly, more shaking off her emotion than disagreeing. ‘I gotta do it for him? Gotta enjoy it for Max?’ She asked, reciting words Owen had given her weeks ago when Charlie loudly protested their Italian vacation for Christmas. She didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave the house or the zoo, she wanted to stay in Max’s memory in case he came back. When they realised Charlie thought her brother could potentially be returning Owen and Claire had a bigger issue on their hands.

They gave her a teddy they had bought for him. Something that sat on the rocking chair Claire had used for each of her children. The little bear with his soft brown fur and his wobbly legs had been something Charlie picked out before Max was born. It sat in his crib until he came home before it was relocated to the rocking chair. Charlie had it now, her possession again, sitting against the pillows on her bed. Lately, it was always in reach.

‘Bring Brown Bear.’ Owen suggested, picking up the toy and dancing it in front of her. ‘Fill him with your love for Max, okay? Squeeze him light and release all your upset. But let him experience things with you.’

‘Like Mr Sheep?’ She asked, talking about her first-grade class pet. Mr Sheep went home with a different kid every weekend where the children were encouraged to take him on a weekend adventure and document it for the other students to read. Charlie had thought it was a silly task but did it none the less, smiling stupidly in the picture he took of her and Mr Lamb at the zoo, the plush animal sitting on Tango’s back in his enclosure. She thought that was  _cool_  and that the other kids would be jealous. Her teacher was a little more than shocked but that was how Charlie liked to live. Shocking people was her thing.

‘Exactly like Mr Sheep.’ He told her, the girl finally scooting closer to press herself against his side. ‘Do you think you can do that?’ She nodded softly, sniffling as she wiped her nose. ‘Ready to go now?’ Owen asked, squeezing her tightly. She nodded again, a little unsure as Owen stood and wasted no time in picking her up like she was as small as Elliot.

Claire raised a brow when he finally met her by the door, worry on her face as he put Charlie on her feet and grasped her hand. He flicked his wrist, checking the time on his watch before he smiled down at his family of four. ‘We’ve still got time.’ He reached for the door, pulling it open and rushing them all out onto the dark street.

‘She okay?’ Claire asked, catching Owen’s other hand and holding him back.

Owen nodded. ‘Just Max stuff. She’ll be okay.’ He told her quietly, squeezing her hand as Charlie let go of his to quietly shadow her still wobbly sister.

‘Thought we were missing someone!’ Mr Brooks hollered, standing on a ladder in the middle of the crowded street. He waved at Owen, nodding towards the man as he checked his watch. Their streetlights were somewhat popular, every house put in the time and effort in setting up a light display but it was Mr Brooks who outdid himself year after year. Owen had haded the man a fifty and passed him a few beers a week ago, asking quietly if he could spare the time to do The Grady house as well. He couldn’t find the spirit for it and with their impending vacation, Owen almost didn’t see the point in dressing the house with fairy lights. Mr Brooks was the kind of neighbour who was willing to help out those in need, he already had it in mind to offer the Dearing-Grady’s a hand come the holiday season. It was because of Charlie, after all, that the man had started pushing the limits on his Christmas decorations.

Noting the crowd waiting for the lights to switch on for the first time that holiday season, Owen picked Charlie up and hoisted the girl onto his shoulders as Claire gathered Elliot beside him. With his eldest daughter secured, Owen wrapped an arm around his wife’s middle, bringing his family in tight as Mr Brooks started to countdown. The timer on Owen’s watch beeped at the exact second Brooks flipped the switch filling the street with light as families cheered at the click of each house as they turned on in quick succession.

Owen’s eyes were on Elliot, the two-year-old’s face blown wide in wonder as she grinned, eyes jumping from house to house as the bright colours twinkled for her. It was all for Elliot, just as it was for Charlie and the other neighbourhood kids. There were enough lights there that each of them could have their own very special few.

Brooks always made his house a full light show, timing the changes to music or telling a story across his front yard. They waited to shuffle closer, Owen shoving his hand into his pocket, procuring peppermint sticks and unwrapping them one-handed before he held one above his head for Charlie and handed a second to Elliot. ‘Do you always have sugar in your pockets?’ Claire asked, head tilted up at him with a quizzical expression. Owen hummed, his grin wide as he pulled another two sicks out of his pocket and handed one to her.

They shuffled to the front of Mr Brooks’ yard, oohing and ah-ing over the lights as Charlie wiggled to be put down and Elliot copied her sisters request. The girls walked ahead, moving from house to house along the street, pointing out their favourites or stopping to wait for their parents as Owen called them back. Charlie and Elliot didn’t hold hands, the eldest remained a step ahead, Brown Bear tucked under her arm.

Elliot was giggling, the lights amusing her as every time she fell into step with Charlie the girl sped up. She was being her usual moody self but for once it wasn’t negatively impacting her sister. He let them walk ahead, sorting out their differences as he held his wife’s hand, revelling in the simple contact bathed in a joyous moment rather than mournful one. They needed this, tonight, tomorrow, for weeks and months after. They needed Italy. They needed to find their home base again, their strengths outweighing their weaknesses.

At some point, Charlie slowed in her evening march. It was the smallest of changes. He barely noticed it at first, in the dying light with flashing colours glowing from groomed yards. Charlie was holding Elliot’s hand.

By the time they reached his parents' house, mugs of hot chocolate in their hands and the girls half asleep on their feet Owen was sure they could find their rhythm again. He was confident the family circle could go back to where it was, a little more battered and bruised, with their scars still healing but they could be themselves ready to enjoy Christmas twelve months from now.


	196. #196 - Christmas Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cali-forniacationn: Claire and Owen go to the company's Christmas gala for the first time as a couple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 23 days til Christmas 
> 
> as you will notice, I am doing this AEST so I think it'll be out for a few of you

****Claire Dearing was trying to teach herself not to expect it.

At the end of every year, starting in November, they embarked on a six-week gala spree. Owen had come to shower her with gifts at that time. He draped her in sparkling jewels on the evening of their first outing every year since the beginning. It was hard to not expect his entrance into their bedroom, box in hand, glee in her chest. She knew one year he would stop, simply forgetting or realising it cost far too much to bath her with diamonds and gemstones. Owen insisted he never would.

She heard his groan as he entered the room, Claire bent over her vanity dressed in nothing but a lace number and stockings. He should have known to expect that as much as she knew a jewellery box would be in his hands. ‘Here’s an idea,’ He stepped into position behind her, hands sliding around her waist as his chin found purchase on her shoulder. ‘We don’t go to the party and stay in instead.’ His lips found the sweet spot behind her ear, teasing her mercilessly.

Claire hummed, ‘And miss out on a funding opportunity? No way.’ She shook her head, turning within his embrace to kiss him softly, her fingers sliding across his cheeks. ‘You work too hard at that zoo to miss this and funding for the girls.’ She was his magician, Owen had to admit it, setting off her magic in a crowd of investors. Everyone wanted to talk to her; the excuse of Jurassic World long behind them, her beauty and charisma the main attraction now. With Claire alone, Owen managed to rake in more funding than he could have potentially dreamed on his own. He never set out to use her like that, she just did it on her own, introducing herself via association charming investors so much so that they were sending money his way because they admired her so much.

‘I guess you’ll need this then.’ He pulled a box from his pocket, placing it in her open palms as he kissed her collarbone, lips trailing south as he dropped to his knees. Claire didn’t realise what he was doing until she popped the box open, Owen leaving a wet kiss on her stomach as his hands found the unclasped clips of her garter and promptly attached them to her stockings.

‘Owen.’ His named dropped from her lips soft and surprised. The box held a single ring, white gold band supporting a radiant diamond. It sparkled at her in the light, dazzling the woman who looked upon it.

She barely paid any notice to Owen, on his knees in front of her. ‘Yes, it’s an engagement ring.’ He knew she would ask. ‘I was kind of hoping you’d maybe want to be my wife one day.’ He couldn’t help the lopsided smile that graced his cheeks as he watched her. She stared at the ring with her lips parted, just enough to see the ends of her teeth. When he did speak her eyes snapped from the ring to him and back again.

‘I -‘ She started before stopping. He had managed to slide it right under her nose, Claire none the wiser half expecting earrings or a different sort of ring. She didn’t think he would propose. ‘We’re going to be so late.’ She sighed in wonder, Owen’s hands tugging at her hips gently. She dropped to the floor, landing in his lap as he took the box from her gently.

‘Is that a yes?’ He asked with a smirk, ring pulled from its cushion as he moved to slide it on her finger. Claire only managed a nod, her free hand cupping his cheek as her lips found his skin. ‘Are you still sure you want to go to the gala?’ He asked in mirth as his mouth chased hers, Claire peppering kisses across his face.

[…]

It was almost as though the whole room knew the second they stepped through the door. Holding her clutch between her hips, wrists touching, Claire felt as if she was exposing the new item on her hands, the pose natural as they broke into the room, only ten minutes late.

Owen’s boss was the first to realise, giving them half an hour before he invaded their space. The man already knew, had done so for months since Owen first told him that he was looking at rings. He just didn’t know when the younger man was going to propose. ‘I suppose it’s better that he get in now before he wraps it for Christmas.’ Brandon had teased, kissing Claire’s cheek fondly as he clapped his favourite employee on the back. Claire disappeared shortly after Brandon had, giving her fiancee a simple peck before she moved to mingle with his colleagues and potential investors.  

He could watch her do what she did at that time of year for hours, weaving her way in and out of peoples lives as she graced their arms softly and bid a sweet hello. This wasn’t the same Claire he knew on the island, at least what he thought he knew of her. She was personable and approachable, investors adored her. She just didn’t know how to be like that when she wasn’t trying to milk money out of someone. Unless she was with Owen.

There was someone in each new group who noticed the sparkle on her finger, women bowing to admire the stone he had painstakingly picked out, as they grinned and gleamed about future plans. She wandered back towards him after some time, easing herself into the conversation he was apart of. Claire fit easily against his side, his hand resting on her waist, thumb stroking the fabric of her dress.

‘I’m glad you finally put a ring on that woman, I was worried I would have to do it myself if you left it any longer.’ Brandon, Owen’s boss, laughed, beer in hand as he grinned at the happy couple, Claire’s thumb rolling her engagement ring around her finger. It had taken Owen three years to work up the courage to ask that question, let alone buy a ring. It was done now, stone on her finger,  their whole sphere happy for them. ‘Who needs yet another gala night for investors? We should have made tonight an engagement party!’ He cheered as Claire happily shook her head.

They weren’t big fuss people. Claire donned expensive gowns and sparkling jewellery for the events that called for it. She was just an attendee, not the organiser. Never would they pick to have such an occasion just for themselves. ‘I, however, would like to dance.’ She turned to Owen, smile dazzling as his hand on her hip squeezed his answer.

He did as she asked. He would always do as she asked. Owen had to omit that the trash would remain indoors on days it shouldn’t, his jobs and duties forgotten for an afternoon but he was willing to do whatever it took to be no less than perfect for her. If she wanted to dance, he would dance. If she wanted quiet, he could be quiet. He would spend his days echoing her needs, fulfilling them as well as he could.

‘Why don’t we -’ Her voice was low, fingers toying with his collar, eyelashes batting softly as she looked him in the eye. ‘ - Get out of here early.’ All eyes were on them, faces Owen knew and ones he didn’t. Claire hated the limelight as much as she loved it. Eyes watching them, even with smiles, screamed the days after the incident. She didn’t like the attention, could never pick exactly what it was for. Reasonably, she knew nobody was watching them in particular, just looking about at the couples gliding across the floor.

His proposal had lit a fire in her belly, one that had teased her warmly all night until this moment. Now she just wanted to take him home and let him appreciate the lingerie she had painstakingly put on.


	197. #197 - Snow Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we were playing in the snow and you suddenly tackled me to the ground and now ... we're just staring ... at ... each other ...   
> Prompt from: http://nadiahilker.tumblr.com/post/133627477715/im-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas-au-i-know-we

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22 days until Christmas.   
> 3rd of December.

When he followed her to Madison a full twelve months after The Incident Claire knew what they had was more than friendship. He had to harbour the same feelings she was denying and either didn’t know how to broach the subject or didn’t want to. Claire knew it was the former. He would not have stuck around if he wasn’t madly pining for her, hoping if he hung around long enough that they would just trip and fall into a relationship.

He stayed in San Diego, bought an apartment not far from hers and took up a measly job despite Claire  _knowing_  he had better offers on the other side of the country. For a year, they spent nearly every day together, running, getting lunch, Owen popping into her new office, or spending the evening and his apartment while he cooked her dinner. It was unsurprising that her employees were shocked to hear he  _wasn’t_  her boyfriend.

She spent the whole morning ignoring Karen’s knowing looks. Rolling her eyes at her sister when she playfully asked why they weren’t sharing a room. She near insisted that they share when Owen sputtered and failed to answer but a sharp look from Claire told her sister to drop it.

The boys were all over him the second he walked in the door, Gray practically climbing the man as Zach played it cool. They had lured him quickly into stockpiling snacks and hiding out in their games room PlayStation controller in hand. They disappeared until dinner, leaving the sisters to taunt each other as Claire sighed over newly acknowledged feelings.

Karen had always loved Christmas from the time she was a little girl right up to having her own children. The boys knew the truth now, no more magic of Santa Claus as they tore into presents right before lunchtime on Christmas morning. She was still one for the snow and real pine trees, she baked all weeks, cookies and puddings and ham in all kinds of ways. Carols were constant from the 1st of December playing in her house and car until the end of Christmas Day. It was no different when Claire was there and when she wasn’t but it had been so long it felt like a warm and familiar welcome sitting in her sister’s pine smelling home soaked in cinnamon and baked goods. Everything was red, green, gold and white her ornaments were old dating back to their grandparents as they hung gently from the tree.

She had been hesitant to come, to spend the weekend doing as they had done when they were girls. Claire didn’t think that part of her still existed but Owen was adamant that the carefree Claire was still there and begging to come out. She didn’t believe him. Not completely. Christmas was a time for family and Claire had long since let that part of herself lie dormant. She felt out of touch in her sister’s home, awkward and a little uncomfortable despite being reconnected for a full year.

Fresh snow fell overnight, the boys practically tripping over themselves to get to it. They crushed the snow between their gloved hands, packing it into round shapes before they piffled it at each other. Owen was right there with them, egging the boys on as he took a few pelts. Karen and Claire watched from the windows in the kitchen, shaking their heads as they heard the boys shriek.

Claire had gone out to call them in when Owen snuck around behind her. ‘You wouldn’t hit your aunt now, would you?!’ Owen taunted the boys, his arm wrapped tight around Claire’s middle as he used her as a human shield.

‘No fair!’ Gray called back, hiding behind a tree, a stack of snowballs by his feet.

‘Claire won’t save you!’ Zach taunted back standing in clear view, his arm arched back and ready to throw. Claire warned Zach that if he hit her with the goddamn snowball in his hand, she would take back every gift with his name on it under the tree. At the same time, Zach swung his arm forward, flinging the snowball right towards Owen and Claire.

She shrieked, pulling her body one way as Owen tried to move in another. They weren’t in sync, the two adults falling as they tripped in the snow, connected bodies moving in opposite directions. Owen was stronger than she was, despite pulling away he had her centre of gravity. They tripped, both of them unbalancing the other as Owen fell on his back in the snow, Claire quickly tumbling after him.

Neither of them moved, both of them frozen in place their breath caught in their lungs. She was staring, her eyes caught on his face in close proximity, her skin tingling here her body touched his. All Claire could think about was their spar of the moment kiss, that heart-stopping moment in the middle of a chaotic day. Her eyes flickered towards his lips, her mouth open and breathing shallow. The whole world had stopped, Owen’s chest sturdy beneath hers and her hips cradled between his thighs.

‘Do you guys need a minute?’ Zach teased, walking past them as the smell of breakfast finally called him inside.

Claire tried to clamber away from Owen’s body, only causing herself to fall into the snow once he relinquished his hold. ‘There’s a hotel 10 minutes from here if you guys need some  _time_.’ Karen teased, her laughter loud as she watched their blushed cheeks. ‘Just don’t do it in my house, okay?’


	198. #198 - Charlie and Baby's First Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: baby's first Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you will have noticed by now, there are some kid fics mixed into the rest of the other ‘non-kid prompts’ I am trying to keep it evenly distributed. For now, this is the last of C&E but there is Bernie and Hunter to come as well as a Winnie prompt! 
> 
> 21 days until Christmas. December 4th.

‘You got this?’ Owen asked, taking a cautionary look at Claire. She nodded stalemate in place and four-month-old on her hip. This, for Claire, was all a game. Hostess with the mostest over the holiday season.

It was their first year hosting Christmas; their house, their food, their rules. The load itself was taking a toll on Claire but he hadn’t seen her acting like her usual over prepared and controlled self since before Charlie was born. The way she was behaving unsettled him. Claire carried about decorating the house with tinsel and holly, dawning the doors with wreaths and the windows with Christmas lights all while carrying the baby around. He couldn’t remember the last time she had picked their daughter up without being forced in the last two months. Claire had become skittish, unsure, fidgety and impatient. She didn’t want to be left alone with the baby. She didn’t want Owen to trust her with the life they had made. But, given a large number of responsibilities, her childrearing fears took a backseat, allowing Claire to handle her daughter without supervision.

The house was bright and festive, another very  _un-Claire_  thing that was starting to make Owen nervous. He was happy that she was occupied, happy that she was holding Charlie, kissing the baby’s cheeks and talking to her in a ridiculous baby voice. He just wished it was a more genuine version of Claire. The real authentic woman he fell in love with, the woman he shared a daughter with, the woman he one day wanted to marry if only she would say yes to his proposals. This Claire played high functioning so well he had moments where he forgot that she was only a shell of a woman who refused to get better.  

The doorbell had rung only moments after Claire gave him her last lunch instructions, the sound chorusing through their home over the light Christmas music that played. Owen had raced ahead of her to reach the door before she could, just so he could ensure she was okay with this.

It hadn’t been Claire’s idea to host Christmas nor was it his and Owen worried it was putting too much pressure on her plate. His mother had argued that it would be easier for them, with Charlie only four-months-old it would be better that people came to them rather than packing their baby into a car and spending a whole day away from home. Everyone was bringing his food, his mother taking control of a big portion of it but Claire insisted they throw a few things together. She wasn’t the cook between the two of them and that sat perfectly fine with Owen, he would happily bake his worries into a pie and feed it to his family over disgruntled looks.

Claire nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t sparkle as she adjusted Charlie on her hip. The little girl dawned in a green dress with easily visible candy cane striped bloomers. She looked adorable, red tuft of hair shining next to her mothers as her little fist yanked at the skirt she wore. Claire ignored their daughter’s fidgeting, her hand smoothing down the soft chord knit she wore over dark jeans. She wouldn’t give him any more than a forced nod, wouldn’t falter or break. Claire was the ultimate professional at masking her feelings and where he thought they had jumped that hurdle she was proving to him that wasn’t the case. He wouldn’t push her now, not with family on the other side of the door. Owen had no choice but to wait until Christmas was over until Claire collapsed in a heap and returned to hiding under her covered apparently not hearing Charlie cry in the room across the hall.

He could do his part in pretending he was happy with that.

With a twist of his wrist and an easy pull, the front door swung open revealing the happy and excited faces of his family. At least their guest numbers were small. Karen was expected in an hour or two with the boys in tow which only meant they had to entertain his parents and sister until she got there.

Entertainment was easy with Charlie who instantly reached her arms for Lorna the second the other woman started to coo, crowding Claire’s space as she slipped the baby from her arms. Pretending to be attentive to her baby was easy when Claire had Owen’s family for company, they were all desperate for Charlie’s attention.  

He missed the busy woman that Claire had been. She was in talked of going back to work early, ending her maternity leave and saving her sanity. Owen had thought it was a terrible idea but seeing her occupied, delegating a big day to small tasks and the guests they had Owen couldn’t help but accept that this was her element and he was proud of her for running it smoothly.

They sat with Charlie on the floor as gifts were handed out, happy smiles shared amongst relatives as wrapping paper and ribbon littered the floor. Owen was glad the presents were finally disappearing, Charlie was gaining quite an interest in them, unable to crawl but easily rolling off her play mat and into the pile sitting under the tree. She had drooled through so many wrapped gifts Claire wasted hours trying to perfect the ribbon on their immaculate gifts for the second and even third time.

It all lay to waste now, scattering their living room as her nephews grinned over video games and new tech Owen almost as giddy as them to rip into remote control cars in the driveway once gifts were done. There was one for Owen, too, sitting in the cupboard Claire well aware that he would hog the boys’ gifts and need one for himself.

Charlie, unable to sit up unassisted was perched in her father’s lap, cooing at herself as her toothless gums gnawed on her little fist. They were throwing wrapping paper for her amusement, Gray, sitting next to Owen, the first to start it realising how much the little girl giggled at watching the shiny paper fall to the floor in front of her. They all followed suit, one after the other tossing the paper in the baby’s direction as Owen scrunched it up in his hands, letting the girl revel in the sound. She had only let out a disgruntled squawk when her father wouldn’t let her grasp the paper herself, fearful that she would shove it in her mouth and choke.

Claire was half hiding behind him, thigh pressed to Owen’s as she sat beside him. She was self-conscious of the cameras pointed towards her, Heather and Karen trying to catch every moment of Charlie’s first Christmas so Owen and Claire didn’t have to. So they could be in the pictures rather than taking them.

‘Its been a big day.’ Owen half yawned, pulling their bedroom door shut as he stepped further into the room. Claire was curled easily in the middle of the bed, already dressed in her pyjamas, Charlie tucked into her arms as she held a bottle to her daughter’s lips. They were both exhausted, Charlie’s eyes already closed as Claire’s lids drooped barely able to concentrate on the child in her arms. ‘How’re you feeling?’ He asked, gently lowering himself to the mattress beside her. Claire hummed, voice small as she shuffled closer to him revelling in the warm feeling of his arms around her. ‘You going to be okay with Charlie in here tonight?’ His question was filled with concern, eyes on his sleepy daughter lazily suckling at her bottle.

Karen and the boys were spending the night to save themselves the long drive home. In an effort to make them comfortable Owen offered Karen the daybed in Charlie’s nursery allowing her space to herself so she didn’t have to share with the boys in the guest room and no one was left to sleep on the floor or the couch.

They wheeled Charlie’s crib out of the nursery, Owen cocky as Claire rolled her eyes. She had thought the wheels were impractical, that they would never need them and could buy a different crib. Finally, Owen was proving her wrong. It was only for a night but Owen was worried about the impact it would have on Claire. She was likely maxing her ability to fake it and things were bound to come crashing down.

‘You did so well today.’ He kissed the side of her head fondly. ‘You didn’t have to put on a show.’ Owen didn’t exactly want to call her out but he didn’t want to pretend like it was normal, nor did he want her to think she got away with it.

Claire shook her head, tilting her chin to look up at him. ‘I just wanted the holidays to be normal.’ Everyone in attendance that day knew she was struggling with Charlie, knew that her heart and mind were in two places no matter how hard she tried to bring them together. They all knew. She didn’t have to keep it a secret from them but she wanted normal, happy, family pictures and memories to look back on regardless of the fact that Charlie wouldn’t remember any of it. Claire wanted to be able to say she was there, present, helping Owen with their daughter like any partner should.

She was trying and Owen could be thankful for that.

He kissed the side of her head again. ‘Want me to take her?’ Charlie’s bottle was empty, little girl practically snoring with her head tilted as far back as it would go against her mother’s arm, little mouth open like she was still a milk drunk newborn. Claire nodded, letting him lift the girl from her arms slowly as he crawled off the bed in an expert manoeuvre he had pulled off too many times to count.  

Charlie remained sleeping as he lowered her into her crib, arms raised above her head as he slipped his hand from her back and waited for a beat to ensure she was settled. Ever the absolute dream; Charlie slept through everything. He wasn’t worried that she would wake.

‘She’s getting big so quickly.’ Claire mused, sitting upright in the middle of their bed, her hands wound around her ankle as she watched him. ‘I’m missing it.’

Owen shook his head. ‘You’re right here. God, I swear some days I blink and she’s gained a few more pounds, or she’s doing something new that she couldn’t do ten seconds before.’ He tried to ease her fears, knowing what she was feeling was common and Owen needed Claire to know that. ‘I, ah, I asked Karen to get me something.’ Owen started, changing the conversation as he pulled a box out of the dresser. ‘Its yours but I wanted to give it to Charlie … or get one similar for her.’ He handed Claire the box wordlessly allowing her to open it to reveal the small size adjustable bangle. ‘I know you don’t want to perpetuate gender stereotypes … I swear if we have a son, I’ll get one for him too.’ There was no way they were having more kids. Charlie was only four-months-old and Claire was struggling, a second no matter how far down the line was virtually impossible. He made the promise anyway.

He couldn’t exactly put words to why he wanted his daughter to have the little silver bracelet, an item that was already too big for her little wrists but that would grow with her from her first birthday to her fifth. Claire had mentioned it when she was pregnant, commenting that she couldn’t remember where the small bracelet ended up when her mother died.

‘I want her to have it.’ Her eyes were fixed on the item, fingers gently prying it from the box. Claire’s full name and date of birth were engraved in the metal, shining up at her with memories of her childhood. ‘Make it an heirloom.’ She flipped the band, showing him there was space for Charlie’s name.

The girl, in her crib, grunted, making soft noises in her sleep as Owen grimaced, moving quickly to switch off the light as he joined Claire in bed. ‘Something tells me she’s going to object to jewellery.’ Just like their four-month-old loathed the dress she was wearing. Owen shrugged, it wasn’t going to be the worst thing that happened and if their daughter rejected silver and gold it kept the money in his pocket and not around her neck. Claire already cost him too much in delicate earring and necklace sets.

‘Get some sleep, the boys want a Grady Breakfast Bonanza in the morning … I need you by my side.’ He kissed her cheek fondly, Claire rolling her eyes as he settled between the sheets.

‘You guys better not eat until you’re sick this time.’

Owen chuckled, arms wrapping around her middle as he pulled her into his chest. ‘Oh babe, that’s exactly how it will go down.’    


	199. #199 - Hospitals Don't Mix with Festive Cheer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: ‘you’re in the hospital for the holidays so I came by while you were sleeping and decorated your room. I love you. Merry Christmas. 
> 
> From this post: http://nadiahilker.tumblr.com/post/133627477715/im-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas-au-i-know-we

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> December 5th. 21 days until Christmas.

The last thing he wanted for either of them was hospitalisation. In fact, the idea that either of them could have been wounded to such an extent hadn’t even crossed his mind. That was until Claire fainted on him of the blue while he tried to sweet talk the girls at the front desk into getting them a few sandwiches. He heard her hit the floor with a painful thud and moved quickly into action.

The hotel staff didn’t know what to do and although he was calmed to see she was still breathing and not seizing he was at a loss for what had happened. Jurassic World had left them in its dust two days ago. Claire, from what she had told him, had not sustained any injuries. She was fine. Healthy. Somewhat sleep deprived but so was he and he had singlehandedly made sure she was eating three times a day at the very least.

His days in the military had taught Owen how to deal with a medical emergency but he wasn’t a doctor nor was he a nurse and with Claire unconscious, in his lap, he was struggling to pinpoint her issue. It all felt so different when it was Claire’s head cradled between his knees, his hands on either side of her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. He felt his heart seize with panic.

Owen did the only thing he knew would work; took her to the hospital. Claire came too while Owen was arguing with an ER doctor the ins and outs of why he  _didn’t_ want to put her down and that the other man could easily take her vitals while Owen held her. This wasn’t true, but there was a protective urge flaring in Owen’s chest that refused to let Claire go. He calmed the second she turned her face into his chest, small hand pushing weakly at his pectoral muscle as she told him he better put her down before she vomited on one of the only shirts he currently had.

The second her body touched the hospital mattress Claire doubled over, rolling her body away from Owen’s gentle touch towards a readily prepared bucket. He cringed, listening to the sound of Claire dispelling the food he had forced her to eat that morning.

She had given herself a severe case of heatstroke which had caused Owen to glare at her the second the term came out of her doctor’s mouth. Sure, they couldn’t help it while chasing a dinosaur through the jungle but he knew for a fact that she had spent the whole previous day with her nephews on the beach before they went home. When she shrugged towards her doctor, admitting that she had been feeling unwell since they landed in Costa Rica Owen’s glare only hardened. Typical Claire not letting on to how disgusting she felt only to push her body to its limits until it couldn’t take it anymore. Had he known Owen would have put an end to her sunny day with the boys, or in the least ensured she had a hat and sat out in the shade.

For concealing her healthy, she had earned herself three days in the hospital.

‘You don’t have to sit here all day, you know.’ She told him, finally given a room as Owen sat in a stiff chair beside her and glared intensely at the fluid drip in her arm.  

Owen shook his head. ‘No, I have to sit here for the next  _three_  days.’ She opened her mouth to protest, angry frown biting her forehead she shut her mouth and glared back. He cared about her, for the first time in a long while someone actually cared about her wellbeing. Who was Claire to argue with that? She was a changed woman, an evolving woman. He would not have been sitting beside her if all hell didn’t break loose nor her nephews go missing. Owen and Claire would have been two different people living their own lives not quietly coexisting around the other. Near death showed Claire that she wanted to be closer to her family, softer with her employees and comfortable enough to kiss Owen back when she could work up the courage.

He was angry that she didn’t tell him about two days worth of dizzy spells or how everything she ate and drank found itself back up and out after he had taken so much time to make sure she was eating. She couldn’t tell him she was weak, couldn’t let him see that, not after she had saved his ass. Claire was starting to see that it didn’t matter. That if she had just told him her health was failing her he would have dropped everything to make sure she was okay without pity. Now he was just mad that she had been so reckless. He cared about her, didn’t want to lose her, Claire could only imagine what he had thought when she blacked out.

She slept a lot. Cheeks flushed in her hospital bed as Owen finally saw the signs that too much time in the sun had taken its toll. He spent hours counting the freckles on her cheeks as they twitched in her sleep, his large hands fiddling with his phone jumping between mindless apps and news reports. It wasn’t until the following morning that he realised the date and what Claire’s hospital sentence meant. He left her bedside once breakfast arrived, smiling softly as he promised he would be back.

Claire liked to colour herself as complicated and unpredictable. He was sure her psyche was an intricate mess of childhood traumas and familial loss that shaped her into the woman she was, working in a  _‘man’s world’_ and dominating the shit out of it. She, however, was not unpredictable. Owen Grady could read her like a book. It only took a few hours to figure out the pattern that was Claire and he unabashedly used it to map her sleep cycle. He came back when her eyes were closed, thanking her career for private healthcare and that her room was just for her.

Owen was quiet as he set up, moving around her bed in gentle steps, shoes slipped off so he could make less noise.

When she woke, Owen was leaning over her, Claire’s vision blurred with colour as she blinked the sleep away from her eyes and cleared her foggy mind. ‘What —?’ She asked, breathless as Owen pulled away letting her have a full view of the room. Silver and blue tinsel covered the walls, baubles hanging from them in matching colours as a sprig of mistletoe hung over her bed. ‘What have you done?’

‘Who said I did it?’ Owen avoided ownership with a wide grin. She only stared at him with deep blue eyes. ‘It’s Christmas Eve. Thought I may as well make this boring room a little festive.’ He had achieved his goal.

Claire tore her gaze away from his guilty face, looking over the tinsel and paper snowflakes he had hung from the roof with teary eyes. ‘No one has ever done anything like this for me before.’ She whispered, throat tight.

Owen dropped himself into his chair, leaning forward so his forearms leant on her bed as he smiled a modest smile. His cheeks were a little pink, hidden under a full days worth of stubble as he couldn’t quite look at her face. ‘Merry Christmas, Claire.’


	200. #200 - Santa Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Everyone has spent time on the naughty list

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19 days until Christmas. 6th December. 
> 
> 200 prompts, you guys! TWO HUNDRED. You have no idea how I am feeling and with all this new press it just makes me feel 10000x more excited. I hope you’re all still breathing.

 

It was one of those  _big_  day kind of days. Tired down to your bones, every inch of the human body sighing with the hope of a mattress and an ice cold beer in your hands. Owen was feeling it, mentally tired, counting down the seconds until he was able to walk through the door and call an end to the rubbish of it all. He liked Christmas, wasn’t overall in love with it. There was something about that time of year, dedicated to family and friends. He spent one too many alone. This year was no different. He had  _tried_  to talk Claire into spending the night at his bungalow where admittedly a few coloured lights decked the porch. She had something on, a meeting, a Skype call, something he couldn’t quite remember but it was going to keep her busy all night. She promised to sneak around when she could, vowing to climb down the chimney like the story itself but something told Owen she would pull the  _‘I was too tired so I went straight home’_ line instead. He didn’t mind. He could be a little bitter around the holidays and who wanted to spend a cheerful season filled with positivity and expectation with him?

Instead, Owen was heading home like he had been dreaming all day. The sound of screaming children finally silent in his ears and the stressors from the girls dissolving into tension knots in his muscles. He was going to strip down, sit in his boxers, watch whatever  _crap_ was on TV and nurse a beer or three until he passed out in an hour or so.

Owen’s heart practically jumped when he saw Claire’s Mercedes sitting out the front, sunset shining on the silver paint as he marvelled, once again, at his own personal lake. Jurassic World owned it, in reality, but Owen didn’t have to share it with park goers considering it wasn’t in line or path to any exhibits. His piece of the island was wholly his, and Claire’s when she made the venture out to fill his bungalow with the sweet smell of vanilla and honey and grace his skin with her shy and gentle kisses. He was actually  _giddy_  at the sight of her car, chest clenching at the thought of her meetings being cancelled.

He dismounted his bike with haste, skipping the stairs on the porch altogether as he pushed past the doors and stepped inside. He could smell her, vanilla lotion rich in the air, mixing with sandalwood and the damp grass by the lake. It was too pretty, too sweet to sit amongst his things as Owen thought of sniffing her out rather than calling her name. He wanted to surprise her, just like he was hoping she was there to surprise him.

Claire had to have known he was there. His bike wasn’t quiet and the hinges on the doors always made an unpleasant screech. He barely had to move, only needed to take one more step so he had a full view of the open kitchen counter. She was sitting there, back arched, legs crossed softly over the other wearing nothing but a deep red lace bra, a Santa hat and a red velvet skirt that sat high on her waist but barely covered her thighs. The cups of her bra were sheer, bar a few embodied peonies, the soft pink of her areola available to his eager eyes as he traced her figure up and down, heart beating out of time.

‘Have you been a  _good boy_  for Santa?’ Claire asked with a purr, leaning forward as her small fingers curled around the edge of the counter, legs still crossed as he grinned at her stockings and stilettos. They were red velvet a shade or two darker than the skirt he was sure she picked up from a discount store or costume bin, the ends of it dressed in white to mimic that of the jolly saint. Claire wasn’t the kind for personal improvements on her clothes and he couldn’t exactly picture her paying top dollar for something so revealing — beyond her lingerie. The shoes, he had seen before, had felt the crushing pain of them digging into his ass on a different sexcapade where he wouldn’t allow her to take them off. He was fond of those shoes.

He didn’t know how to answer her question, his head moving between a shake and a nod as he gapped at her. ‘I have no idea but I want to do bad things to you.’ Owen managed to breathe out, practically using his last breath. He moved towards her, steps cautious before his hands met her knees and slid up until his fat fingers pushed under her skirt to wedge themselves between her skin and the suspender she was wearing. ‘I thought you had meetings all night?’ He slid between her legs, focusing on the feel of her knees squeezing his hips teasingly as her green eyes shone.

Claire shrugged, teeth sinking into her lip as she batted her eyelashes at him, ‘I lied’. She smacked at his hands, trying to wiggle away from his touch as he took a step back, recoiled, recovered and reached for her again. ‘You’re supposed to admire it first.’ She told him with a scolding look and a light giggle. Owen never adhered to the rules of lingerie, her expensive items wasted on him as impatient fingers tugged and pulled, slipping the fabric from her skin. This one cost her a little more than Claire was willing to admit, it would have helped her feel better if he kept his hands to himself for a few seconds longer.

Owen shook his head. He had admired enough with his eyes, he wanted to look with his hands, his lips and his tongue. He wasn’t a patient man, not with her, not when she was wearing the bare minimum out of some salacious fantasy. His eyes were on her chest, exactly where she wanted them, not focusing on the smaller details of the Santa hat or that her stockings hat a red line up the back to match the brand new set she was wearing. He wouldn’t have cared about those details in the end. He would have minded how long it took to slip her out of it and how many times she felt it necessary to hiss at him to be gentle before she smacked his hands away and undressed herself. Those were the things that mattered to Owen.

‘Are you wearing bells?’ He asked, ears tuning in to a small sound she was making with every shift of her hips, Claire shuffling against the counter. She wiggled again making the short red skirt jingle. Owen grinned, toothy and wolfish. ‘C’mere.’ Owen beckoned, finger crooking at her as he encouraged Claire forward. She had nowhere else to go, sat on the counter as he caged her in. ‘You can show me all the fancy details later.’ His hands reached for her waist, Claire complying as he hoisted her up.

She couldn’t deny enjoying the way he easily lifted her, legs wrapping around his waist as he buried his face against her neck. She was giddy at the thought of later after they had found release in each other and eaten the meals she had packed up at the Main Street restaurants naked. Later, he would ask her to put it all back on again. Later, she would curl up in his lap warm and comfortable, doing it for nothing but the companionship. Later, he would trace his fingers over the intricate details of lace she had fallen madly in love with and chosen to share with him. He would honour her spending later, admire it like she wanted him to do now and reward Claire for her patience.

He took a deep breath of her. She had showered before coming to see him, not an uncommon Claire move, her skin fresh and soft as it drenched him in sweet smells. His day was filled with sweat, dirt and the distinct reptilian smell of The Raptors. Nothing in his day was sweet and  _pure_  until he encountered Claire, until she wrapped herself in his arms, his sheets and towels. Her apartment was a heaven he had never knew. An unfamiliar plane where everything was for looking and hardly anything was for being used. He liked it. Liked her. Adored the little uptight way she put things on display, like Claire herself wasn’t to be touched. He  _loved_  coming home and finding her there or hearing her car pull up. Owen draped himself in her, almost too scared to touch in fear of staining the pristine image of the woman she was. And when he did, his hands filthy and squeezing her ass on a particularly playful afternoon, she hadn’t cared that her white skirt had a large oil stain in the shape of his palm. She tried to be mad, he watched it twist across her face but laughter won out, Claire shedding herself of her skirt on his porch before she slipped inside, singing that he owed her a new one.

It was a four-hundred-dollar skirt, he learnt to wash his hands first.

‘This is just about the best Christmas present I’ve ever been given.’ He told her, hands firm against her ass as he caught her lips in a passionate kiss. Claire laughed, cheeks split against his as she fought for dominance, tongue rolling over his as she tried to overpower him, forgetting that Owen was the only thing stopping her from hitting the ground. He let her have some control, raising her up so she was looking down on him, kissing him from a few extra inches as her arms wound around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair.

She grinned at him, open-mouthed and already panting once they broke apart. ‘This isn’t your Christmas present.’ Claire told him, pecking his lips playfully in a quick staccato pattern. There was something else sitting under the little three-foot tree they had resurrected in his living room. A few other things. That was for Christmas morning once they felt like getting out of bed.

Claire purred, almost hissing as he snapped her stockings free of the suspender clasps, growling that the thing would have to go in order to him to reach what he wanted most. He hadn’t even seen the suspender scaling from her bottom rib to a few inches below her hip in the exact same sheer tulle with embroidered peonies. Claire already knew that in the current moment, he didn’t care. He returned her to the counter, lowering her softly as her legs remained over his arms, his elbows pressed to the counter as he reached around her back to unclasp the hooks that held the whole thing together. His face was buried against her chest, voluntarily, teeth scraping at the material of her new bra, sinking into flesh when he found it. He was grasping down the small of her back, fingers pushing and pulling, trying to release all the hooks without reattaching others. He grunted and she sighed, the both of them doing it out of frustration.

When Claire tapped at his forearm, one hand on his shoulder, quietly huffing that she would do it before he caused any damage, he growled. It was low sort of noise, deep in the back of his throat and completely primal. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the claiming of his territory and learning when his masculinity was and was not at stake.

Instead of continuing to fumble, Owen pulled his hands from her body completely, freeing them so he could turn Claire on her stomach. She relinquished control easily, allowing the give and take they shared without a word nor fight. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, cupping the curve of her ass before he flicked the skirt over her back revealing the tight rows of hook and eye closures. Claire shimmied under his scrutiny, her thighs pressed to his. He brought down a soft smack to the curve of her ass, making Claire swallow a shriek around a giggled moan.

‘Now who’s naughty?’ He asked her with a teasing tone, releasing her waist from the boned suspender as she pushed her forearms against the counter to give herself leverage to glare back at him. She hated it. Loathed it when he tried to call her a  _bad girl._ It was one of a very few things Owen was learning  _didn’t_  work in the bedroom between them. ‘Hey, I’m checkin’ the list, checkin’ it twice.’ He winked, leaning in to kiss her shoulder.

He put the skirt back in place, some part of him enjoying the look on her. His hand lingered on her ass for a second longer, giving her a sharp squeeze before he tapped her hip, telling her to roll over as he dropped to his knees. His hands were firm on the inside of her knees, keeping her legs spread as he kissed his way up her thighs, teeth present as he scraped her skin.

Owen thought his day would be nothing for the history books. He thought it would end with a beer in hand, not his face buried between Claire’s legs and her hands knotted in his hair. Owen genuinely believed that he would wake up on Christmas morning with Claire in his bed and nothing else. She was the sort of busy that kept them apart for days on end and he thought this time was no different. Instead, she was wrapped in new lingerie and a partial costume and sighing deliciously.

He tugged her underwear off, stopping at her feet to remove her shoes and stockings before he replaced the heels, happy for her to keep them on. She was watching him, elbows propped up on the counter, hat still in place as she grinned at him. He changed her tune quickly, wasting no more time as his tongue flicked at her clit. The smile stayed, growing lazy as a soft moan slipped past her lips.

Claire’s hands, in his hair, tightened their grip, pulling his head towards her body, silently begging for more pressure as his hands squeezed at her thighs. The coil in her belly rolled, pulling tight with each nip of his teeth and flick of his tongue. She was on the edge, ready to break when she tugged at his hair with one hand and pushed at his shoulder with the other. ‘Bedroom. Now.’ He responded to the command, pulling away and letting her slip off the counter.

Between the kitchen and the bedroom, Owen shed himself of his belt and pants, Claire helping with intrusive hands as the bells on her skirt continued to sing Christmas in his ears. He let her take control in the bedroom, Claire on her knees, small hands around his straining erection as he watched her hair pool in his lap. The Santa hat bobbed, Claire’s gifted mouth teasing him relentlessly. He pushed it off her head, letting his hands slide through her soft hair as he worried about the potential damage this little image was going to hold over Christmas for the rest of his life.

She didn’t let him ponder the ramifications for too long before she was straddling him. Owen’s hands slid under the skirt she kept on, shaking the hem a little to hear the jingle again before he rocked into her slowly. Owen tried to memorize the way her eyes rolled when their hips met, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she hissed. He had seen it over and over again in a myriad of different positions, the sound and sight would never leave him but Owen couldn’t stop trying to catch that moment every time. He wanted to ensure she was committed to his memory no matter what.

Despite her claiming the getup and surprise wasn’t his Christmas gift, Owen couldn’t help but think it was. There could be a thousand things under that tree, parts for his bike or new fishing gear but all he cared about was Claire. Christmas meant nothing to Owen, it was an occasional day off to fiddle with his bike and to treat the girls and even though Claire wasn’t arguing a case in  _favour_  of Christmas celebrations, she gave the day some meaning for him. He wanted to see what other people had, how the other lives lived. With Claire wearing that tiny skirt, her Santa hat on the floor, he felt like a normal life had chanced to grace his.


	201. #201 - TBAH: Charitable Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: practice what you preach during the giving season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a bit different! I’m really excited about this idea, @mrsquill not so much. She tried to talk me into another sibling but propos for trying. 
> 
> 18 days until Christmas. December 7th.

 

The lights were off, bar the Christmas tree in the living room window and a few night lights in the upstairs hall. Bedroom doors were left ajar as Claire tiptoed across the floorboards begging they didn’t creak. She sighed when she finally managed to slip into her bedroom, bedside lamp on, husband tucked under the covers, Stephen King book in his hand.

Her teeth had been brushed an hour before the forth rereading of  _We’re Going on a Bear Hunt_ and the sixth internal rendition of  _Go the Fuck to Sleep._ She had Owen to thank for that last one, the man chuckling as he slid the book towards her a few visits to the local bookshop ago. Claire had been ready for her bed since dinner was served, her shower had and her pyjamas put on. They had let the boys put on  _The Magic School Bus_  as the adults cleared the table of brightly coloured plastic plates and kiddy forks. Claire didn’t think they  _quite_  understood it but it made her feel less guilty that the four and three-year-old were watching TV before bed.

‘You know, I thought the bunk beds and sharing a room thing wouldn’t work. But, it’s going better than expected.’ Bernie and Hunter still refused to sleep the second they were tucked in but at least they stayed in bed now that they were located in the same room. Claire had thought they would like their own space but it was Owen who argued that they were similar enough in age to not be bothered by the other. The boys were close, why separate them at bedtime. He hummed, smiling at her before his eyes flicked back to the page. ‘I just feel like Hunter’s room is a waste of space.’

‘We’ll have another kid, then.’ Owen didn’t even look up from the page, waiting for a beat before he shrugged telling her he was joking with a falter in his lip that said he wasn’t. She didn’t know what exactly it was about Owen or how it came about but the man was destined for a big brood, Claire just wasn’t made for his heavy babies.

She climbed onto the bed easily, sitting on the covers she had just turned down by Owen’s knees as her whole body faced the headboard. ‘Speaking of …’ She paused, watching as her husband pulled the bookmark out of the back page and slid it in between the pages he had open before he closed it whole attention drawn towards her. She could already guess what he was assuming behind his black-framed dad glasses Claire loved to tease him about. ‘You know how Katie and Nathan are struggling to conceive?’ Claire didn’t wait for him to nod. ‘I want to offer to be their surrogate.’ She spat it out, almost biting her tongue the words moved too fast.

‘What?’

Nathan and Katie had bought the property next door only a year after Owen and Claire bought theirs. The young couple had the same intentions with a little less renovation. They wanted an out of city lifestyle and a break from their inner-city jobs. Owen and Nathan couldn’t have been more similar and with only four years between them, they had plenty to bond over. The couples had been close from the day they met sharing weekly dinners full of good food, laughter and an open bottle of wine. Katie had been trying to conceive longer than Owen and Claire were married. Six years was too much. They had poured their life savings into failed attempts at IVF and the previous Friday they had woefully admitted that giving up was their only option for a biological child.

‘They’re great people, Owen, and you know that.’ Kate’s body just happened to refuse every attempt at forcing it to grow a life. It wasn’t fair. They were hard working, well mannered, great members of society they should have been allowed to raise a child exactly like themselves. ‘They’re applying for the adoption waitlist but that could take them close to a decade. I had two  _healthy_  babies without a hitch. I can do it again.’

He shook his head, hand reaching to pull the glasses off his face so Owen could squeeze the bridge of his nose. ‘Claire —‘

‘Don’t tell me I can’t do this, Owen.’ She only stood her ground. ‘What if this was us, what if we struggled to get Bernie or Hunter … what if it was Karen or your sister? What if it’s the boys in the future? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy to know someone was willing to do this for them or us but her grumpy old husband said no?’

‘I’m not grumpy … or old …’ he pouted, ‘I just — what about us? I would like to have another kid, you know? And what’ll the impact be on you? On the boys?’ He was trying not to be defensive, she could see the tick in his brow trying desperately not to scowl. ‘I’m sure they would love it, Claire, and  _God_  would I like to help them but I don’t think this is the right way to do it.’

‘It’s the only way we can help them. We’ve sat around for years playing sympathetic, they’ve got to hate us. They’ve done nothing but help  _us._ They take the boys whenever we ask, even when we don’t. I think we have to repay them for that.We were teaching the boys about Christmas spirit tonight, teaching them that it’s about looking out for others. I think we should practice what we preach. They’re not going to care that I’m pregnant or that the baby’s not ours — they’ll be excited that Katie and Nathan will be getting a baby. And, I’ll be fine.’

He opened his mouth to protest but Claire stopped him. ‘I hope you know I’m not asking your permission. I’ll let this marriage fall apart before I let Katie destroy herself over this. It’s 9 months, Owen, we’ll live.’

‘Our marriage isn’t going to fall apart, Claire.’ He sighed at her, half huffing. ‘I just want to make sure you’ve thought about this, first.’ She nodded. Claire wasn’t the kind of person to walk into a commitment without thinking about it first. Owen knew that but this situation was different. Doing something like  _this_  for someone else no matter how close they were, was going to have repercussions. He understood Claire felt like Katie was the little sister she never knew she wanted but there were a lot of things that could go wrong and he didn’t want Claire in the firing line.

Just because they had the boys — without planning — didn’t mean this whole thing was going to take immediately. He worried that it wasn’t just Katie’s hostile uterus, that maybe something was wrong with her eggs or Nathan’s sperm. He didn’t want to watch his wife get her hopes up, nor did he want to witness her miscarry regardless of if it was someone else’s baby. He liked Nathan, hell, he adored the guy but Owen didn’t want to see their friendships fall apart because Claire couldn’t keep up her end of the deal. He knew they would test her, make sure her health was in order before going through with anything but there was always room for error no matter how perfect his wife was.

She was right, anyhow, the holidays were all about being selfless. Part of him wished it was about dressing up as Santa Claus and surprising his kids but Owen wanted them to take more out of the holiday season. He wanted Bernard and Hunter to learn there were lessons in kindness and selflessness during November and December. Maybe they were too young to completely understand what their mother was about to do, but it would stand as a grand example of kind gestures.

‘They might not even accept. I mean, I want to mention it to them tomorrow but they might say no.’ Claire shrugged, leaning forward until she was standing on her hands and knees as she kissed her husband on the cheek before climbing under the covers.

‘They won’t say no.’

[…]

Katie almost pushed Hunter off her lap when Claire finally got around to her proposal over dinner. The other woman had a Grady toddler on one knee and a glass of wine in the other hand which promptly ended up in her husband’s lap.

‘Oh, Claire, we can’t ask you to do that.’ Katie was crying immediately, tears already soaking her cheeks as she squeezed Hunter to her chest, apologising to the boy for giving him a fright.

Claire shook her head. ‘You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, I’d like to see your family come visit you for Christmas instead of making you drive to Colorado.’ Selfishly, she hated setting up a Christmas meal for the six of them — including the boys — two weeks before Christmas just so they could celebrate the holidays with their friends.

‘But you hated being pregnant.’ Katie told her, reminding the woman that she had been privy to both her pregnancies. It was the tears on her face that pushed Claire, solidified her want to do this — not that she would back down now that her friends were giving her a friendly out.

She smiled, wide and full of teeth as Claire’s eyes drifted to Hunter’s dirty face. They would one day have a meal with both boys sitting calmly at the table, each of them clean and Whiskey not begging for scraps at their feet. Tonight was not that night, Bernie had already excused himself, disappearing to poke at the presents already under the tree as three-year-old Hunter had smeared half — if not all — of his potatoes across his face. They were both getting too old for this, Claire prayed. Nevertheless, she loved them, no matter how swollen her feet had gotten, or how round her belly whilst they were still tucked safely in her belly. She had only smiled softly at each warning of a c-section if another pound was gained. She trusted her boys, loved her boys in the womb and out. ‘I hated being pregnant but I  _loved_  getting to hold my boys at the end of it. I will love getting to see you hold your baby  _finally_.’ Claire rose from her chair and rounded the table to crouch beside Kate. ‘You deserve this and I want to help you to the best of my ability.’

Kate’s tears had been silent until Claire’s hand touched her knee, the other woman breaking out into a full sob as her Husband reached over and slid an arm around her shoulders. ‘I really don’t want to drive to Colorado next year.’ Kate laughed, wiping her tears before she pulled Claire into a tight hug.

‘You’re probably going to have to drink the rest of that for me too.’ She laughed, siding her wine glass towards Kate’s plate as she rose and slipped herself into Hunter’s chair, the boy transferring from the lap of his sometime babysitter to his mother. ‘We can do this.’ Claire reached for her hand and squeezed.

‘Are you okay with this?’ Katie turned to Owen, knowing the mans possessive and protective trait. Owen liked to keep the things in his world within the realm of his protection. He trusted Claire, trusted her body, trusted her intentions, but Katie knew something in his head would be going haywire.

Owen gave her a short nod as Claire laughed, waving her hand in his direction. ‘Please, he loves it when I’m pregnant.’ She threw a wink towards her husband, making him laugh as he shook his head. There was still a bit of neanderthal in him, they all knew that.  

The sound of feet on Owen’s polished floorboards ran towards them in typical Bernard fashion, little boy holding a wrapped gift over his head as he gleamed at the table of adults. ‘Can I open it now?’ He already knew it was from Katie and Nathan, already knew he could open it before the night was over. But he asked with the biggest smile his four-year-old cheeks could offer.

Katie cleared her throat and matched his smile. ‘Of course! Can you bring Hunter’s to the table too?’ He dropped his gift on the chair beside his father before racing off into the living room knowing already which was Hunter’s gift without asking. Claire always colour co-ordinated wrapping with the tree’s baubles. Everything was silver and red bar four green presents — from Katie and Nathan. ‘I feel like what I got you for Christmas can’t match what you’re offering.’ She smiled towards Claire, feeling a little silly that she stocked up on her friend’s favourite bath time luxuries.  

Claire just squeezed her hand again. All they could give in return was their joy.


	202. #202 - TBAH: Christmas Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: you baked me Christmas cookies and they taste like shit but you look really happy and excited so I’m just going to suffer through them. 
> 
> From: http://impromptu-prompts.tumblr.com/post/154856240272/in-honor-of-christmas-eve-eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s trailer day. Stay sane out there. 
> 
> This is pre Bernie. 
> 
> 17 days until Christmas. December 8th.

 

[To Build a Home](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/164020707669/despite-the-odds-to-build-a-home-whiskey) List

 

 

**CHRISTMAS COOKIES**

‘What’s got you so happy?’ She met him at the door like the cat who caught the canary, Owen watching the woman with a perplexed smile. Whiskey moved between their feet, tracing a figure-eight around them before she padded off to her bed in the kitchen. Claire only grinned wider, white teeth showing in perfect lines.

‘I baked.’ She told him, watching as Owen took a deep breath grinning at the smell of cinnamon cookies and gingerbread. ‘I thought you could take them back to base with you.’ Her arms were wrapped around her waist, teeth gnawing on the corner of her lip. He had worried her, made her concerned about what she had done and Owen had never intended to do that. She hated it every time he went back, hated having him for a second before letting him and Whiskey go.

He grinned, flashing teeth as he bent in the middle to put down his bags from the hardware before his arms snaked around her, lips landing on the side of her neck. He hummed, pulling Claire in tight as he breathed her in and allowed his body to feel the warmth of her against him savouring it for the months ahead of him. ‘I bet they’re not as sweet as you.’

Owen heard Claire scoff, he had no doubt she rolled her eyes as well as she playfully fought his hug, tearing away to lead him into the kitchen. He followed, hands reaching for her hips and intermittently pulling her into his body to pepper her neck and shoulders in playful kisses. It was hard to wade in and out of the crushing realisation that he was leaving again. Owen had only been home for two weeks, he did repairs on the bathroom she swore was leaking and polished the stairs. He taught her how to use the sander so she didn’t have to scrub the floors on her hands and knees. It was a big job he never had time for and Claire was eager to learn how to do it. They argued over the colour of the laundry, Claire knowing he didn’t care but she had saved the discussion for when he could weigh in.

‘Karen said I didn’t have to bring anything for Christmas but she always has so much on her plate. I thought a few cookies would ease her load or at least keep the boys quiet.’ She grinned, presenting Owen with six trays worth of cookies, half twirling on the spot to see his face. ‘Cinnamon Sugar,’ her hand tapped the ends of the top three trays lined across her large kitchen island. ‘Gingerbread.’ It was easy to discern which was which, the colours of the cookies gave themselves away but he let Claire explain. ‘Mom emailed the recipes over.’ She was grinning, hands on her hips, clothes lightly covered in flower as she looked at what she accomplished, dishwasher quietly running behind her.

Claire had made makeshift piping bags, already filled with coloured icing sitting beside her trays of cookies, a few already decorated in garish Christmas sweaters. They were shaped in just about every cookie cutter she could find, baubles and snowflakes, gingerbread people and candy canes. Claire had tried to decorate them accordingly in red, green and white. ‘These look great, babe.’ Owen lent across the island, large hand plucking the first one that caught his eye.  

He bit the biscuit in half, letting the flavour was across his tongue as Owen tried to focus on the icing rather than the cookie itself. Claire wasn’t a cook nor was she a baker and despite the fact that she had a recipe printed and laminated in front of her but that didn’t stop them from tasting a little like cardboard. He grinned around a desperate urge to grimace. ‘These … these are the best damn cookies I’ve ever had.’ He lied right through his teeth, unable to disappoint the joy on her face as she good naturally rolled her eyes. ‘Best thing I’ve damn near put in my mouth in a  _long_ time.’ Claire’s cheeks flushed, embarrassed by his flattery as she rolled her eyes again, scoffing at him. ‘Okay, that’s a lie. Nothing compares to the taste of you, babe.’ He winked at her, Claire turning away from him as she sighed loudly at his innuendo.

‘It was just a test batch.’ She told him, waving him off as Owen finished his cookie as quickly as he could before going back for a second just to sell his support. She didn’t need him pretending like she got things right. Claire was the kind of person who knew what she was and was not good at. Cooking wasn’t her speciality and she wouldn’t learn anything from him blindly supporting her terrible dishes.

‘The boys on base are gonna love ‘em.’ They were going to laugh at him, tell him his poor new wife was going to starve him. But Owen wasn’t the kind who needed a woman to cook for him or keep his house. He could do all of those things for himself, that was how his mama raised him the fact that a beautiful woman loved him and didn’t need him to provide her with a damned thing other than keeping their roof from leaking. The longer Owen was away, the more Claire learned to do without him. ‘I wish I could be there for Christmas this year. It’s gonna be a good one if you’re bringing baked goods.’

Claire shook her head, she missed her flirt of a husband. She missed his smile, his laugh, the way he teased her and that she didn’t hate that at all. She called him ridiculous, delicate fingers picking up a cookie as she broke it in half before placing a piece in her mouth. She grimaced easily, face screwing up as she chewed and quickly swallowed.

‘Owen!’ Claire shrieked, throwing the other piece at him playfully. ‘They’re terrible!’ She coughed, reaching for the bottle of water that floated around the house, desperate to rid herself of the tase.

Owen shrugged, grinning at her like a fool happy just to watch her laugh in outrage. ‘The boys’ll be jealous anyway that they don’t have a girl like you willing to poison the whole squadron.’ He teased, pulling her into his arms and dropping an affectionate kiss on the top of her head.


	203. #203 - Jingle Bell Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: I thought I was the only one working overtime at the office on Christmas Eve so I was singing Jingle Bells at the top of my lungs incredibly off key while making hot chocolate in the break room but you surprised me and I dumped it all over your pants. hello nice meeting you for the first time lemme dab your wet pants with this napkin AU
> 
> from this post: http://b-a-d-l-a-n-d-e-r.tumblr.com/post/135241130599/christmas-au-prompts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the prompt as a light guideline. 
> 
> Also, are we all alive out there? How’re people coping with the trailer? I’m at work all day but my inbox is open. 
> 
> 16 days until Christmas. December 9th.

****The smooth sounds of Bobby Helm drifted from the speakers in the building, filling the empty rooms in the dull light of early morning. Claire was the first one in and ultimately would be the first one out, as she moved about making a coffee in the communal tea room.

The machine whistled, steam billowing from it as Claire waited for the fuel that would get her through the most part of the morning. She snapped her fingers to the song, smile short on her lips, pressing dimples into her cheeks. She hummed freely, knowing she was alone as the song started to leave her lips in full words and her hips started to sway.  

She had woken in a good mood, bright and shiny on Christmas morning, ready to conduct the control room and assure that her park was running smoothly. She volunteered for the operation like she had done every year, keeping the park open on Christmas day so holiday goers could enjoy the festivities. Claire wasn’t one for the bright lights and the shining tinsel. She had drifted so far from her sister and family she no longer felt like there was a place left for her at the table no matter the season. Instead, Claire took a two-week vacation in early November to recharge her batteries before working right through to the New Year often with the skeleton staff.

Claire made sure she was first in, hogging the coffee machine and going over reports as the sun warmed the pavement outside ready for the children and adults who were waiting for a day of thrills. She preferred not to go home, her Christmas joy came out of watching the monitors and making sure everyone was safe. She had a full team Claire trusted year round, but this day was hers to guard and hers alone.

_What a bright time, it’s the right time_

_To rock the night away_

_Jingle bell time is a swell time_

_To go riding in a one-horse sleigh_

_Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet_

_Jingle around the clock_

_Mix and a-mingle in the jingling feet_

_That’s the jingle bell,_

_That’s the jingle bell,_

_That’s the jingle bell rock._

The song left her, the sound of bells ringing in the speakers as she danced a lazy version of the box step in front of the coffee machine. Her beverage was ready, drink in hand as Claire lifted it to her lips to take a steady, testing, sip when something startled her from behind.

‘Cute.’ A voice announced, relaxed and casual, mirth in the sound of the single word they said. Claire jumped, hands raising, cup moving with it to dump the majority of its contents on her cream shirt, the colour decorated like a Christmas wreath already staining. She thought — no, she  _knew —_ she was alone. And yet, when she turned around Owen was leaning on the doorjamb. ‘Still cute.’ He told her with a short laugh before rushing forward, sidestepping her shocked and startled body to reach for napkins. Owen handed her half, using the rest in his hands to remove the mug from her grip and to pat down the coffee dripping down her wrist. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He told her sincerely, her right wrist in his hand as her left came down to hit him square on the shoulder.

‘Well, you did.’ She glared, not quite meaning it, her eyes soft around the edges as she patted at her shirt, internally praying the light brown colour was going to come out of her shirt. ‘What are you doing up here anyway?’ Claire stepped away from him, tossing her soiled napkins in the trash as she turned back to the coffee machine, intent on getting her fix.  

Owen shrugged, she wasn’t looking at him anyway, too busy pressing buttons on the corporate Nespresso machine as she continued to dap at herself with one hand. In his haste to help Claire, the woman in the middle of scolding herself, Owen had dropped a manilla folder. He had brought it with him all the way from the raptor paddock at 6:30am for the sole purpose of giving it to her.

‘I, ah, was behind on a few reports. Stayed up all night finishing them for you.’ He bent to pick it up, straightening slowly as she turned back to face him, brows knitted together in confusion. Nothing before had ever persuaded Owen to send through his reports on the raptors. Claire had threatened to have the project shut down, his girls put to sleep and Owen fired. All that earned her was Owen’s wrath. To spite her, he withheld his reports but here he was, a thick folder in his hands promising it was all there and up to date. ‘Do you want me to drop by your apartment, pick up a clean shirt?’ The park would start opening soon, she didn’t have the time to step away.

Claire raised a brow. ‘I don’t think I could trust you in my apartment alone.’ Claire smirked, eyes shining.

Owen nodded. ‘True, I’d probably go through all your stuff to find something that’ll persuade you to go on a date with me.’ He told her honestly, meeting her gaze with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.  

‘Well, in that case, I’ll go get you my keys.’ She nodded towards the door, hands sliding into the pockets of her pants as she swayed in front of the coffee machine. ‘Once this is finished.’ She told him, smile shy and tentative.

He let the silence drift over them, happy to lean against the counter as he tried not to make it obvious that he was watching her. ‘I didn’t know you could sing.’ Owen told her, turning his face in her direction.

‘I didn’t know you were sneaking about the building.’ She answered with a toothy grin, almost winking at him as she teased. Claire took the lead, walking straight out of the tea room as she moved for her office. He followed like a wayward puppy, knowing the direction but happy to bite at her heels as she showed him.

Owen didn’t think she would, but Claire actually handed him the keys to her apartment, easily giving him directions as she explained there should already have been an extra outfit set out on her bed. ‘I didn’t know what to wear.’ She told him truthfully as he gave her a funny smile. ‘And, I swear to god, Owen if you go through my things I will know about it.’ She gave him a gentle threat. He wasn’t going to touch her belongings beyond the skirt and top she said were already sitting on her bed. In and out. No one was to know he had been there, not even Claire but if he stopped to look at the pictures she had hanging on the wall, it wouldn’t do any harm.

‘You can trust my discretion.’ He promised, grin wide and premaritally stuck on his face. ‘And, I’ll take your clothes to a dry cleaner as soon as I can.’ It was the least he could do, Owen hadn’t meant to scare her.

She nodded, letting him turn, her keys rattling in his hand. Owen reached the door before she called out to him. ‘Why aren’t you on leave?’ She asked, IBRIS was an important project but just like everyone else, Owen was entitled to holiday leave. He shrugged, waving her off. He didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Owen,’ she stopped him again as he was trying to make a run for it. ‘Maybe we could have dinner tonight?’

He was trying to play it cool. She could see the corners of his mouth twitch as his eyebrows raised a little. ‘Yeah,’ he stopped, cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, I would like that. I would  _really_ like that.’


	204. #204 - Charlie, Elliot and Gingerbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: we have a family tradition of making and decorating gingerbread together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15 days until Christmas. December 10th. 
> 
> I think this is the first time in a little while where I haven’t written a depressing chapter for Charlie and Elliot. This one filled me with so much joy to write. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Friendly reminder; you can find all my C&E fics here: (https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/143039456119/here-you-can-find-all-my-published-pieces-for-the) they're organised in chronological order.

 

 

Traditions had become an important part of their household. Owen valued them as teaching their daughters valuable life lessons in familial compassion and patience. He and Claire had once drifted from their respective parents and siblings. The last thing Owen wanted was for his daughters to grow up and do the same. They put a big emphasis on family time, especially around the holidays.

Charlie was a year old when Owen started making gingerbread with her. She sat in a highchair in his mother’s new kitchen in San Diego, smashing cookie cutters on her plastic tray while Claire ran out for last minute Christmas shopping. Owen, since then, took on his mother’s recipe and spent a few days before Christmas with Charlie baking.

It got easier as the years went on, especially once the girl could actually help and not make a complete mess. Sometimes Claire joined them, other times, she didn’t. It wasn’t until Elliot was two that it became a compulsory family task. It also stopped being a single gingerbread house and became a village of four oddly decorated homes. The girls were chaos, still a little haphazard with their hands as Owen gave Charlie the pieces of her house to construct herself. She was ten, her fine motor skills were improving but she couldn’t for the life of her keep four walls and a roof stuck together with quick-drying royal icing.

This year, she refused all help.

Owen usually leant over her shoulders, instructing her to hold her hands tight against two walls as he piped them together. Claire wrangled Elliot, their toddler desperate to cover herself with sugar as her hands turned sticky and ended up with more candy in her belly than on her house. It was a nightmare and Owen loved it.

‘You sure you don’t want any help?’ Owen asked, laugh on his tongue as he looked over at Charlie on the other side of the kitchen island.

Giving her father a loud  _mhm-hmm_ , Charlie nodded. ‘I can do it, Daddy!’ Her smile was contagious, self-assured tone promising the fact that her house was lopsided and about to crumble was all in her plans. ‘It’s a house for The Raptors.’ He was taken aback. They didn’t want to tell her about Jurassic World, hell, they thought they managed to avoid that story altogether but when the ten year anniversary rolled around Owen and Claire realised it was inescapable. Charlie was old enough to recognise her mother’s name on the news, so were her classmates. They told her everything, as much as they thought their ten-year-old could handle — which was quite a bit considering her life history. And when Charlotte Mae Dearing-Grady had questions; they answered as truthfully as they could. ‘They’re not very good at keepin’ things nice. So, it’s a little destroyed.’ On that comment, the icing thick roof caved in, each piece falling in on each other. ‘Perfect!’ She gleamed, ignoring the puzzled look on her mother’s face.

This wasn’t the Charlie they knew but then again, it probably was; the messy perfectionist.

Claire, although not the most talented of chefs, had a good hand when it came to art. Owen looked forward to handing her the pieces of her house and watching as his wife decorated them in icing before constructing it — always with his help. She laced icing in easy curlicues, twisting and turning in intricate patterns that always seemed effortless. Her pieces were always the shining star of their small collection and the look on her face when it was done, perfect and admired, was all worth the frustration of sticky, impatient and sugar-filled little girls.

‘I think they would love that. But, you sure you don’t want it standin’ up?’

Charlie shook her head and slipped off her stool. ‘I’m missin’ somethin’.’ She told them, frowning softly in thought.

Her mother called after her, watching Charlie’s red hair, in a messy bun disappear around the corner as her anxiety rose. ‘Don’t touch anything, baby, your hands are sticky!’ Charlie didn’t respond, just left them with the sound of her feet on the stairs.

Claire rolled her eyes, knowing they would never find the mess in time if Charlie did happen to leave a smearing of icing on the wall or dropped jelly beans in her room. At least, they didn’t have to worry about Ellie and a choking hazard anymore. Owen kissed his wife’s cheek, grinning from ear to ear happy for the time together as she turned back to her toddler wobbling on the stool beside her.

‘Ellie!’ Claire shrieked, four-year-old holding a whole side of her gingerbread house in her mouth. In the three minutes Charlie distracted them, Ellie had managed to nibble her way through a quarter of her Christmas treat. ‘Honey, this isn’t for eating now.’ Claire tried to scold, reaching for the now square piece of drooled on gingerbread in Elliot’s hand.

The girl shook her head. ‘No, Mama, I’m eating it.’ She told her, fair and square grinning with her small baby teeth.

‘Well, there’s an answer for the ages.’ Owen teased, wrapping his arm around Claire’s waist as he centred her to him. ‘I like that their personalities change from year to year. Last year Charlie cried because hers wasn’t as pretty as yours. Elliot cried because we moved the candy out of her reach — her house was covered. The year before …’ he trailed off. Max. ‘I mean, everyone really wasn’t feeling their best and we just ended up leaving gingerbread pieces for mom and dad while we were away. We  _bought_  gingerbread that year.’ A shock horror. ‘And all the Christmases after that, Ellie was too little to properly join in. Sure, she’s still eatin’ it before we’re finished but she’s here and she’s gonna remember it.’ He kissed the top of her head.

‘Is it bad that I just want to redo them all once they’ve gone to sleep?’ Claire confessed, eyes on the time knowing they had a few more hours before the girls would start to close their eyes.

Owen nodded, his laugh loud, her head tucked under his chin. ‘You already did that to the ornament placement on the tree. You can’t do it to their gingerbread village too. Plus, I like that yours is the best. Goes to show the hierarchy of the house.’

‘I mean if this is the hierarchy of the Grady family home.’ She gestured to the little cookie houses. ‘Elliot is my second in command.’ Claire hummed, assessing his creation to that of their youngest child. Charlie was no contender, her gingerbread lay in broken stacks, covered in icing and candy that had been previously placed meticulously. Owen wasn’t as good at decorating as he was at baking enough gingerbread for the four of them — and then some. There were always extras in case the girls got hungry or their gingerbread couldn’t hold the weight of all their candy pickings. If the spare pieces survived the craft, Owen cut them together to construct something bigger just so he could show off. He was all construction. The decoration didn’t matter.  

Owen shrugged, ‘I didn’t need gingerbread to tell me  _your_ baby comes before I do in the social order of this house.’ He teased, squeezing her gently as he pressed another kiss to her hair.

Charlie was back in an instant, slipping back onto her stool and squeezing more icing on her crumbled house without a word. Her parents watched her squish four plastic dinosaurs into the mound before the girl looked up at them with a cheek-splitting grin. ‘Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo.’ She told the baffled faces in front of her, small finger pointing at different colour and announcing their name. With Claire and Owen’s explanation of their past also came Charlie’s fascination with dinosaurs. They weren’t too sure how to handle it but knew plastic toys weren’t going to hurt her. For the most part, Jurassic World had been a thrilling adventure that her parents, once upon a time, had loved. ‘But, I wasn’t named after Charlie, was I?’ The girl asked, face coiled towards her nose. Owen and Claire shook their heads. They had been over this before. ‘I was named after a person?’ They nodded. Then again, his raptor was named for the person too, in part, Charlie was named for the Velociraptor named for the real Charlie. At the time, Owen wasn’t prepared to explain that to the woman who had just given birth. She knew the story and was happy to name her child in memoriam. For a person. ‘Ellie is eating her house, that’s not allowed.’ Charlie pouted, her attention drawn to her sister. ‘You said we couldn’t!’ Her gaze was directed back to her father who only shrugged.

‘I mean, you can, but what will Nana and Granddad get to eat tomorrow?’

‘Yours?’ Charlie offered with a sarcastic quick of her lip.

Claire cleared her throat, hand on her husband’s shoulder. ‘You know what? I think everyone is finished. Do you want to watch a movie before bed?’ The sun had set, their little bellies full of dinner — and Ellie’s filling with gingerbread. Claire was happy to fill them with distractions until their eyes started to drift closed.

They were already halfway there when Charlie settled on Elf already curled up beside her father as the man hit play and set the remote aside. Elliot was curled in Claire’s lap like the baby she used to be, eyes already closed. They smelt of ginger and syrup, all things sugary and sweet as Claire took in a deep breath, her nose pressed to Elliot’s head before she pressed her cheek to Owen’s shoulder.

She thought they would fall asleep during the movie, was convinced that plan would work as she rubbed soothing circles across Elliot’s back, the little girl almost snoring in her arms. They got forty-five minutes into the film before Charlie crawled off her father’s lap and moved to lie under the Christmas tree, another ten and Elliot was right beside her.

They left them. The girls were more than capable of quiet play in their rooms without supervision, they would be fine looking up through the branches of their tree in the very same room as their parents remained interested in the movie. And if Claire could find an excuse to cuddle her husband beyond when they were sleeping, she was going to take it.  

It was when Owen let out a snore that Claire called the end of their night. She pulled away from him, but not before hesitating a minute longer. They would be in bed soon, wrapped in each other, girls asleep in their individual rooms but Claire couldn’t help but savour the warmth of her husband when she had it. ‘C’mon.’ She stood, voice commanding but quite in the sleepy room. ‘One,’ she brushed a hand across Charlie’s head, ‘two,’ Claire pulled Elliot back into her arms. ‘Three.’ She clapped her hands, holding her smallest child, Ellie’s arms wrapped around her neck as she turned to Owen. ‘Time for bed. You too, Papa Bear.’ She reached a spare hand out for him as he pulled himself off the couch, and shuffled into line behind Charlie before he picked the girl up and carried her the rest of the way to her room, her head tucked against his shoulder.

They went to bed without a fight, tucked under the covers and kissed goodnight. Under the roof of their gingerbread house, they dreamt of the lights twinkling in the tree and the presents that surrounded them following their morning of sweets.


	205. #205 - Mistletoe Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: kisses under mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s actually really strange posting on-island fics that are now pre-JW2. So, bare with me. This one was actually the first I wrote for the XMAS countdown. I’m keepin it. 
> 
> 14 days until Christmas. December 11th.

 

They had dressed the park in Christmas cheer. There were tinsel and wreaths hanging from shop fronts and lamp posts, moving with a slight summer breeze. It was going to a scorcher that year, temperature set to rise to record highs as the park still managed to fill with eager guests day after day. The first-aid tents were busier than usual, bursting with heatstroke victims and severe sunburn. Kiosks were making the budget as expected, selling out of ice-cold drinks and frozen treats. They had brought out a new line of ice-creams in collaboration with  _Streets_. They were ridiculous and a complete cash grab but seeing dinosaur shaped popsicles in the hand of nearly every child that summer reminded Claire that they had made the right move. There was a profit to be made and so far they were smashing it out of the ballpark.

She wasn’t in the festive spirit. She usually never was but this year, in particular, was setting irritation in her jaw. The lights set up around the assist enclosures bothered her and the Christmas carols they played over the speakers only set her hair to stand on end. One of the bonuses of working over the holiday season in a theme park with no real religious commitment; the park usually played it politically correct. Jurassic World offered itself as space away from holidays for naysayers to escape or for those who didn’t want to be around the sights and sounds of festive celebrations. No music. No decorations. This year, something changed.

Simon Masrani thought it would boost profits on top of the already  _hot_  season if they advertised Jurassic World as the perfect Christmas vacation. He wanted to pull in reluctant travellers. Those who didn’t want to splurge on the kids that year and instead wanted a vacation. It was, according to Masrani, a coming trend. Family holidays instead of the Christmas trees and shopping rush. Claire couldn’t help but agree that it was a smart idea, she just wished that he wasn’t infiltrating her space. The park was one thing but Control was also glimmering with the shine of tinsel and the sound of her staff doing more  _chat_  than work.

Claire was biting her tongue and holding back the rage that wanted to step forward and rip the festive decorations from the backs of workbenches. No one would appreciate her losing it over their fun. She already bordered on living in their bad books; not that Claire minded. She wasn’t here to make friends, she was there to ensure the park ran smoothly and that everyone played their part. She had to remember that they were people too and even though Claire hated Christmas these people were missing time with their families to ensure there was someone for every station. She let the decorations say up.

Her office and apartment were the only two safe places on the island untouched by Christmas cheer. Claire revelled in her downtime, happy that she was the ruler of her own home and if anyone had so much as dared to enter her office, tinsel in hand, she was bound to break their fingers.

‘Wow.’ A voice whistled, body in the doorway to her office, Zara’s guilty face peeking under his arm. Claire looked up, took one glance at Owen Grady and rolled her eyes. ‘You really are The Grinch, aren’t you?’ He asked, stepping further into her office as he turned to wave Zara off, promising he wouldn’t get her in too much trouble.

There was just about a full ban on Owen and Claire’s office. He wasn’t allowed in no matter the excuse and yet he managed to waltz through that door a few times a month. Owen did nothing but waste her time. It was annoying, if not endearing at first, but once their one and only date proved there was no possibility of a relationship, Claire tired of his antics. ’What do you need, Mr Grady?’ Claire asked, barely lifting her eyes from her computer screen.

‘Nothin’, just wonderin’ why you weren’t at that meetin’ just now.’ He shrugged, not quite looking at her.

Owen didn’t miss the way her ears practically stood up like the woman was a cat or a dog catching the sound of their name being called but electing to ignore it with a full head turn. She was intrigued but not falling for his bait. ‘There was no meetings today, Mr Grady.’

‘Sure looked like a meetin’, Masrani was there and everything.’ That caught her attention, Owen sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants as Claire tried not to snap her neck as she looked at him. Owen nodded. ‘Just down the hall, walked right past ‘em. Thought I was gonna miss makin’ your day with a visit.’ He winked, catching the way she rolled her eyes like he was just a child and she was only humouring him. ‘Looked mighty important.’ He nodded at her again, shoulder rolled back as he quietly offered to show her if she didn’t believe him.

Owen had her  _hook, line and sinker_.

Claire pushed away from her desk quickly, once again trying to cover up the shake in her hands. Meetings didn’t happen in that building without her know how, especially meetings with Simon Masrani. Owen let her take the lead. There were three meeting rooms on that floor that he could potentially have walked passed. While it still baffled Claire that she wasn’t aware, and so close to her office, she walked at a fast pace. Owen followed two steps behind.

She made her way to the last conference room down a narrow hallway that only lead one way. Owen considered that room a secret meeting place. It was where all the  _important_ discussions were held, the ones that pertained information on new assets and accidental breakouts. It was hidden away from the others to provide privacy, assuring that no one casually managed to walk past and hear something they shouldn’t have.

Claire turned to look at him over her shoulder, eyebrow raised and a quizzical look in his eye. She wasn’t falling for it anymore. She knew he could not have just happened to see Masrani in this room and he was yet to make a peep of protest.

The door was open, Clair stepping into the room with an easy stride as she quickly turned on Owen, her hands on her hips. ‘What’s going on?’ She asked, glaring at him as Owen smirked.

The room was garishly decorated with red and green tinsel hanging from the roof, paper cutouts of wreaths hung across the walls and a set of tree lights were strung around the whiteboard. It looked like every other room in the building and that fact alone was starting to affect her temper.

Owen shrugged, ‘I don’t know why you don’t just tell her.’ He asked, taking a step towards Claire as she took a step back the look in her eye telling him she was still angry. ‘Stress ages Zara about five years every time she so much as sees me in the building.’

Claire shook her head. ‘I don’t want anyone to know.’ Maybe their date hadn’t been too much of a disaster after all. Claire was certain they’d never be  _forever_  material but Owen was  _fun_  and what was a little stress relief between two attractive people who could act like adults? She didn’t need her employers knowing she was sleeping around with the Raptor handler. It would bring more harm than it would bring good no matter what he had to say.

He hummed, taking another step forward as Claire stood her ground, only an inch between them. ‘You’re not going to let me do this anywhere else.’ Owen hummed, as Claire frowned deeper watching him with an intense gaze as he ruffled in his pocket.

It took a second but Owen quickly procured a small bunch of mistletoe tied together with a little red ribbon. Claire sighed, eyes rolling for the third time since she saw him that afternoon. He lifted it over their heads before leaning in and catching her lips.

‘You’re ridiculous.’ She told him, asking easily why he couldn’t wait until dinner.


	206. #206 - To Build a Home: Christmas Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: picking up a loved one at the airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last prewritten prompt I have left. So, hopefully, I get my butt into gear and pump out a few more. But, don’t be surprised if these stop. I tried. 
> 
> 13 days until Christmas. December 12th.

 

There was something oddly comforting about standing at the arrivals gate in mid-December. The airport was packed, filled with excitable relatives as they looked for their loved ones streaming through the doors. Owen was no different, finding himself a centre position between both possible exits. He crossed his arms over his chest and leant back, broadening his shoulders as his eyes scanned the faces moving past him.

He didn’t have to concentrate too hard. Claire’s red hair was always a dead giveaway in situations like these. That, and an internal homing beacon, something completely fictional that had lived inside of him from that fateful day on Isla Nublar. He could always spot her without effort, without strain, he always managed to look at the right time and she was  _there._

‘Claire!’ He called, raising his arms to get her attention. She had only just walked through the doors, tugging her suitcase behind her, carry-on sitting on top of it. She had been gone three weeks. Three whole weeks and he was losing his mind. His eyes were on Claire now, soaking in her pale skin, dusted with new freckles thanks to the Parisian sun. She looked radiant, tired but glowing as her eyes snapped up and spotted his.

The grin that broke over Claire’s cheeks just about shattered his heart. Owen had never seen joy that pure, drenching a single persons face. She hurried toward him, ignoring the fact that there was a barrier keeping waiting families from the new arrivals. Claire climbed the barrier in an instant, wrapping herself around the man as he squeezed her tightly with both arms. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He breathed against her neck, as he revelled in the weight of her in his arms.

Owen gave it a minute. Releasing one hand from her body as he grabbed the handle of her bag and lifted it over the barrier. Claire was wrapped around him, legs locked behind his back, arms holding tight around his neck. Owen had one hand on her ass as he turned slowly in the crowded space, his other hand pulling her bag behind them.

Claire wasn’t this affectionate, but three weeks away had taken its toll on the both of them. For the first time, since the Indominus escaped a year ago, they hadn’t been separated. When work called, insisting Claire be at a conference in Paris she couldn’t turn it down and Owen was in no position to follow her.

They had promised each other that it would be fine and it was. She actually had a good time, enjoyed herself with the people she was sent with and tried not to linger on the fact that Owen was at home, trying to buy the house they loved. ‘Is there anything in that bag for me?’ He asked, finally setting Claire down on her feet once the warm San Diego air hit her skin. Owen nudged her with his elbow, winking as a sly smile grew across her cheeks. He knew she had gone shopping, knew there was at least one set of lingerie wrapped up neatly in that bag and Owen was thrilled to lay his eyes on it.

‘Anything interesting happen while I was gone?’ She asked, ignoring his question as she pressed her body against his side.

Owen shrugged, looking both ways for cars as they crossed into the parking lot. ‘Nothing exciting.’ He told her, nonchalant as they reached the car, Owen effortlessly lifting her bag into the trailer on his truck. ‘We got the house.’ He told her, eyes focused on the cars behind them, playing indifferent as Claire jumped back into his vision, her body throwing itself at him again.

‘We got the house?!’ She was staring at him wide-eyed, their faces inches apart. Owen had only shown her the old property five weeks ago. They made a move while they had the chance but with Claire overseas, Owen thought it better to surprise her when he finally got the call from their agent.

He nodded, grin wide as he flashed his teeth. Claire peppered his face with kisses, unable to keep her hands and lips to herself as they embraced in one of the airports many parking spaces. ‘Just need you to go down and sign your part of the mortgage tomorrow.’ Claire grinned like the sun radiated directly from her. He missed her smile and the whites of her teeth. He missed how fantastic it was to hold her in his arms, to kiss her, and to surprise her with happy news.

They had lasted three weeks apart without breaking. They survived Jurassic World. They conquered the housing market — in picking a dusty old shell that hadn’t managed to sell itself in a few years. But, they got it anyway. Owen was confident, all else in their favour, things were going to be goo from there on out.

‘I can’t believe we got it.’ She sighed, looking at him with dreamy eyes before she turned to climb into the car.

He took his place behind the wheel, strapping on his seatbelt before visually checking she had done the same. ‘You better believe it, babe. We have a lot of renovating to do.’ He squeezed her hand, right where it belonged in his on the centre console. ‘How do you feel about setting up a tree there? Celebrating Christmas in the new house before we fly out to Madison?’ He asked, desperate to get her within those walls now that it was  _theirs._ She had ideas, Owen knew it, paint and plaster, kitchen counters, bathroom sinks, and walk-in wardrobes. Claire had practically been talking about it in her sleep before she left and Owen was ready to make the house the best Christmas present she had ever received.


	207. #207 - Charlie and the Christmas Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: a kids Christmas concert
> 
> 12 days until Christmas. December 13th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure we’ve all been to one of these and if you haven’t, gee whiz I am envious.

 

Charlie had been ecstatic for weeks. She couldn’t possibly count her days down any faster, desperate to go to bed early in order to pass the hours faster. Her kindergarten was closing out the year with a Christmas concert. The children were encouraged to come in costume and where all the little girls were dressing as angels and twinkling stars, Charlotte Grady came home with the begging question to be a reindeer.

They did their best to make the girls’ wish come true.

‘It matches my song, Mama.’ The girl grinned, Claire turned her by her shoulders to reveal the finished costume in the ensuite mirror. Charlie gleamed, her smile one of the brightest Claire had ever seen. She couldn’t help but reflect it back, happiness creeping across her cheeks as she watched her daughter twirl in front of the mirror.

‘Do you like it?’ Claire asked, nervous. Charlie’s reaction was a happy one but ensuring everything was done to expectation for the four-year-old was her biggest worry. The costume consisted of a brown tutu skirt, speckled with white dots that Heather had acquired from some place or another. A cream henley and a faux deer pelt vest. She wore brown stockings and a pair of brown fluffy boots. Claire had painted Charlie’s face, a light brown smear coating her daughters face from ear to ear and over the bridge of her nose, popping with white polka dots. She painted her nose black, even though Charlie had specifically asked for red and dawned her daughter’s head with a pair of costume antlers that had been a staple in every household for years.

Charlie only started singing her allocated song, small fingers holding onto the end of her skirt as she swayed back and forth. Claire would take it that the girl liked her costume as she wiggled back on the floor to give the girl some space.

There was something about seeing her girl, dressed up and ready for her first school concert, ready to charm the socks off everyone who so much as looked in her direction. Claire couldn’t help it. Her daughter was remarkable, so small and full of might as she practised the hand choreography her teachers taught her with a concentrated frown. Charlie was singing  _Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer_  and her mother was crying. She couldn’t help the bubble of emotion, suddenly caught off guard by how  _big_ her  _baby_  was getting. Claire didn’t necessarily believe it when people told her that children grow up too fast. She could see it now, understand it and instantly wanted the girl’s infant years back.

There had been a time where Charlie butt shuffled into the ensuite when Claire and Owen were getting ready for various things, their daughter cackling madly at her reflection. Now, she watched herself, timing her movements, practising her faces in exaggerated steps all while remaining serious.  

‘Is the baby making you cry again?’ Charlie had asked, frown still in place as she turned to face her mother. Claire laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. This wasn’t Claire’s first hormonal break down since they told Charlie about an impending sibling a few weeks ago. She shook her head, grinning at her girl as she pulled Charlie in for a hug.

She kissed the side of Charlie’s head. ‘You’re just getting so big.’ The girl sank into her lap giving into the affection she had at first resisted. ‘I was thinking about when you were a baby.’ She hummed.

‘Was I a cute baby?’

Claire kissed the side of her head again, repositioning the girl in her lap so Charlie’s back was pressed against her chest, the two of them sitting on the floor and facing the mirror. ‘The cutest.’ Claire squeezed her. Her four-year-old, dressed as a reindeer, quietly asked  _‘what did I look like?’_ and Claire couldn’t help but branch into a description. They had pictures on the walls in the living room, the hallways, the bedroom and Claire’s home office. There were even a few stuck on the fridge. It wasn’t like Charlie  _hadn’t_  seen any pictures of herself.

‘Well,’ Claire started, ‘You didn’t have much hair, to begin with. Daddy called it peach fuzz.’ Charlie giggled when Claire pulled on her pigtails. ‘And you had this cute little nose.’ She tapped Charlie’s reindeer nose making the girl crinkle up her face in an attempt to make it twitch. ‘And you were so little, Char, Daddy would wrap you up in a blanket and hand you to me. Your head would sit in my hand and your legs, all curled up and snug only managed to reach my elbow.’ Claire stretched out her arm, wiggling the tips of her fingers as she showed Charlie how long the girl was once wrapped up tight in a muslin wrap. ‘You were so precious.’ She kissed the top of Charlie’s head with a deep sigh, heart aching at the thought of her tiny little girl. They were expecting again, a baby due in July but Charlie was always going to be Claire’s baby no matter how bumpy the road had been.

‘There you two are.’ Owen hummed, relief in his voice as he stood in the doorway, shoulder leaning on the jamb like he had been settled in there for a while. Claire had no doubt he was listening, revelling in the moment between his girls as Charlie sat still for longer than ten seconds at a time. ‘Nana and Granddad are downstairs, you ready to go?’ Charlie jumped up immediately, tearing past her father to go see her grandparents. ‘She looks really good, Claire.’ Owen praised his wife on the child’s costume, grin wide on his face.

‘I’m putting a ban on  _Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer_  after the concert tonight.’ Claire gave him a tired smile. Charlie had practised and practised and practised to the point that Owen was sure he could get up on that stage and perform right beside her without a hitch. He was siding with his wife on that front, no more renditions of Charlie’s Christmas concert once the event was over. She could uncover a different carol for all he cared. ‘Ready to go?’ Claire nodded, accepting the hand Owen extended to her to help her up off the floor. ‘Lorna’s going to meet us there.’ He kissed her cheek because he could, watching as a small smile fluttered across her face. ‘You feeling okay?’ Claire waved him off, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t been through before and it wasn’t going to go away. Morning sickness had been a hurdle for a few weeks now and she was learning to get through. ‘Mom’s brought a picnic hamper.’ He told her, promising to slip in a few things that would keep her stomach settled until Charlie did her song and was tired enough to give in and go home.

‘We’re going to be late, you two.’ Heather appeared, smiling at them fondly, her hands on her hips. ‘What’re you whispering about?’ She asked, watching with a close eye as Owen tucked his wife under his arm.

They both shook their heads. ‘Christmas presents.’ Claire answered, appeasing her mother-in-law for a little longer. They just needed Heather to wait another week before they shared their news with her. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Mom.’ Claire teased, winking at her mother-in-law as she stepped away from Owen and moved for the door.

The concert was loud and messy, children singing nervously lyrics to songs they couldn’t quite remember dressed as Santa Claus or a Christmas Star. Charlie’s group grinned brightly, four-year-old’s standing on the tips of their toes to spot their parents sitting on the grass in front of the stage. Charlie was no different, smile a little damp as she looked for Owen and Claire. Her father stood up and whistled sharply, catching Charlie’s attention and directing her gaze towards him. Her grin grew, little hand waving as she jumped on the spot. Owen waved back as his wife tugged on the belt loop of his jeans, encouraging him to sit down. ‘What? She couldn’t see us.’ Owen grinned, pecking his wife on the cheek as she rolled her eyes, his mother pointing out that Charlie would have spotted them eventually.

He filmed the whole thing, phone raised, grin bright and wide across his face. Their little reindeer didn’t miss a beat, Charlie was the only concentrated kid on that stage, doing the moves her teacher taught her and singing at the top of her lungs. The others, despite all their best efforts, were a little star-struck by the lights and sounds, not to mention the waving parents they were trying to spot.

Charlie bowed when the song was finished, causing her grandparents to laugh as her teacher set the kids free to go find their parents. They lost her in that haze, adults and kids spread out on the grass, Owen hyper-aware that he couldn’t see his little redhead. She sprung upon them, jumping into their group of five and sitting in the middle. ‘Did you see me?!’ Charlie asked and they all nodded, jumping to praise the girl as Lorna pulled her into her lap and gave her a tight hug. ‘Miss April says that Santa’s gonna come! Can we stay a bit longer?’

They had already been there an hour and a half, Owen looked to Claire, trying to gauge how she was feeling without asking. She nodded silently as Charlie dug into the picnic hamper her grandmother brought, helping herself to a sandwich and a juice box as she grinned.

They were only little once and while they had the time to appease Charlie’s childlike fantasies, they would do so.  


	208. #208 - Please Come Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: bars at Christmas time
> 
>  
> 
> 11 days until Christmas. December 14th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is somewhat an answer to the trailer bar scene ... but not exactly set in that moment. Also, it’s depressing as hell ... but smutty!! and probably tied to a fic I want to work on. I don’t know what happened here. 
> 
> I had a few things in my head when I wrote this. The Eagles ‘Please Come Home For Christmas’, Sia’s ‘Snowman’ and Niall Horan’s ‘Slow Hands’. So have fun with that.

 

The bar was dark, the kind of murky lighting that would have him squinting at the sun if he managed to leave before it set. That wasn’t going to happen today, just like it wouldn’t any other. Owen threw back his beer downing half of it in a second. This was his space, his bar, his new life and he was sitting there waiting for  _her_  to ruin it.

She played a good game of innocent, surprised when she walked in the door, her eyes instantly finding him. Claire turned, leaving the building for a whole thirty seconds before she came back in the door and waltzed right for him.

‘Karen set me up.’ Claire offered, coming to a halt at his booth, her hands knotted together as her thumbs fiddled with the thick knotted wool jumper she wore. ‘I just felt like I owed you an explanation.’ She couldn’t look at him … or wouldn’t, Owen wasn’t sure.

Claire was in town for Thanksgiving. He knew she was coming, her nephews had given him the heads up. She just didn’t know that Owen Grady had picked up his life, walked away from her and moved to Madison, Wisconsin.

Karen had bullied her into going on a blind date with her ex-boyfriend. Claire swore, if she knew, she would not have walked into that bar.

‘I didn’t even know you were in town.’ She didn’t know where he went after he packed his things and left. Claire wouldn’t have even been able to guess if anyone asked her. Madison would have been her last idea. She knew her nephews still heard from Owen but had no idea that was because they regularly bumped into him shopping for groceries.  

Owen shrugged. Telling her she didn’t have to leave as he eyed her cautiously. How long had it been? He couldn’t remember. A year now? A little more, a little less. He was trying not to count the days. They had been on fire, burning right through the atmosphere but when they crashed there were no survivors. They destroyed each other and here he was, unsure of the time that passed, his heart beating faster just at the sight of her.

He had missed her and Owen hated himself just a little for that fact.

He called for a beer, Claire protesting the order and levelling him with a look. She hated it when he ordered for her, even when he was right, knowing full well she would drink the Budweiser he had called for. She ordered a bourbon and coke just to spite him, quirking her eyebrow when he gave her a smug look.

Claire crossed her arms over the table of the booth, leaning in as she let a hand play with her glass. He couldn’t see her soft peach tulle skirt anymore, feet tucked into fluffy heeled boots but that didn’t stop him from thinking back to the last time he saw her in something similar. They were love drunk and stupid, lust filled their eyes as an eagerness bit at every touch. Too impatient, buzzed from the alcohol they had been drinking in wait for their friends. Claire had slipped under the dark booth they were sat at, her hands sliding up his thighs as nimble fingers loosened his belt and unzipped his jeans. Her mouth was on him quicker than he could think, blowing him under the table as their friends arrived. Claire was nonchalant when she resurfaced, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks pink with the alcohol and not the fact that she had been caught sucking Owen’s dick under the table. Or, at the least, it was heavily implied.  

‘What?’ She asked, lip quirking as her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. Owen shook his head, finishing the rest of his beer before signalling for another. ‘No, tell me what you were thinking about.’ He had a funny way of looking at her, even then, that said his thoughts were in a thousand different places. She could never quite place him, never sit on the same plane as his wandering thoughts. She half demanded him to answer, they had been sitting in near silence for fifteen minutes. She asked him a question and he grunted a small response. Claire was tired of doing all the talking, tired of sitting there awkwardly, tired of feeling how he  _looked_.  

Owen looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. There was a shine missing in his eyes, quietly there but not as bright as it had once been. Something in her chest pulled. She hated seeing that things weren’t right with him. Claire felt responsible. He was the one who walked out and even though that was the case Claire felt guilty for how it turned out. She could have tried harder.

‘Was just thinking about that last dinner with Barry and the gang in Costa Rica.’ Her cheeks flamed, an instant blush crawling up her neck and across her face.

That was a year ago. Claire had forgotten all about it but now the memory was setting her on fire, emboldening a part of her that should really remain in its lane. Her mind changed in an instant. On second she was ready to bolt, get up and leave the second his hostility reared an ugly head. She hated the words on the tip of her tongue as she tossed back her drink in two easy gulps before she slammed it down on the table. ‘Lets take this back to your place.’ Owen stared at her, eyes wide as he tilted his head.

‘Why?’ It was confusion that asked. Owen didn’t understand what lead the conversation to that place. They loathed each other, they fought and bickered and drove the other away. He left because they didn’t want to do that anymore.

‘Because I’m staying with my sister and I can’t exactly take you there.’ His brows were knitted together. Claire sighed, sound long and heavy as she explained; ‘Sex, Owen. I want to fuck you and I’m not climbing under the table like that last week in Costa Rica.’

‘Claire,’ He sputtered, taken aback.

‘Is that a no?’ She asked, moving to grab her bag.

He laughed, shaking his head as a large hand reached out to stop her. ‘Why are you always so forward?’ Everything was business with Claire, she never stopped or hesitated. She knew what she wanted and she asked for it directly, unashamed.

‘Why are you always thinking about sex but when it’s offered you have to think about it?’ Every part of him ached for her, longing to feel her skin pressed against his once more as his dick throbbed, half hard at the memory and anticipation. Owen didn’t need foreplay when it came to Claire. She was enough to keep him rearing and ready to go. It was some magic spell she held over him, he didn’t exactly hate it. Owen had long since come to terms with the fact that Claire was it for him, the highest star he would reach, the best he could do — the probable love of his life.

Owen’s fingers around her wrist tightened, the man leaning across the table. They locked eyes, holding the other’s gaze. ‘You sure?’ He asked and she nodded quickly, swallowing as she did so. This hadn’t been her intention. She was there, in Madison for the holidays, not to track him down and relive their past. ‘Never did get a final send-off.’ He winked at her, sliding out of the booth as Claire rolled her eyes.

[…]

He didn’t take her by the hand to lead her to his truck. She should have expected the bathrooms, should have been disappointed but his mouth was on her neck, his body flush against hers. He had her backed against the wall in the women’s bathroom. Owen was no fuss, didn’t like wasting time in precious moments.

Every nerve in her body sung like she was home. She was where she was supposed to be, skin tingling in his arms. A large hand slid down her stomach, dipping beneath the hem of her skirt as a thick finger found her wet folds. Claire whimpered, sound a blessing to his ears as her mouth bit kisses down his neck.

She worked her fingers at his belt, freeing him as she popped the button on his jeans and hastily shoved them down his hips. Claire didn’t wait for him to do the same for her. She worked around the hand in her underwear shimming them down her legs, adding to the friction of his thumb on her clit. ‘I need you  _now_.’ She told him, Owen easily taking the hint as he removed his hand. She whimpered at the loss of his touch, instantly regretting the change of her demand.

He only pushed closer to her, large hand sliding up her leg as she tucked it over his hip. Owen slid into her easily, Claire finding her whimper again as he filled her completely. He stilled, giving her a minute until Claire rocked her hips into his. It had been too long between the two of them. This wasn’t even supposed to be happening. She shouldn’t have been there. She should have been nursing a glass of wine with Karen, talking shit as the boys tried to pull out stories from their past.

Instead, she was here with Owen, in a bar’s dark bathroom, their noses pressed together as they whimpered and moaned their breaths intertwining. Claire squeezed her eyes closed, he was too close and all over her. She wanted this, asked for it, instigated it but it was too much. She could feel the emotion building in her throat and the tears burning her eyes. She should have told him about Blue, that one of his girls was still alive. Claire had seen her, a few of the island’s monitors still working. She was part of a task force trying to ensure the animals on the island didn’t come under any undue harm. They were monitoring them, ensuring they were fed and not starving to unnatural deaths. He would have wanted to hear about that. She shouldn’t have let the sexual tension between them burn, flame flickering to life.

His rhythm was wild, no pattern to it as short sharp thrusts were followed by him pulling out of her before slamming back in. She couldn’t hold her breath, easy little sounds leaving her throat with every inward stroke, as her parted lips forgot they were in a public space. Owen pulled out of her, Claire’s body whining and high strung as he turned her, pushing Claire against the cool wall as he entered her from behind. She pressed her cheek to the tile, not thinking about if it was clean or not as she allowed it to soothe her skin, Owen’s hands on her hips steadied her as he slowly slid forward. His hands wandered, one climbing up her hip, finding access under the shirt she wore as it slipped beneath her bra to squeeze the warm skin of her breast in his calloused hand. Claire arched her back, mewling when his thumb rolled over a stiff nipple. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter, telling herself they were back home, in their airy Costa Rican apartment, Owen’s hot mouth hovering over her breast as he pushed in and out of her lazily. She wanted that back, the familiarity, the unnecessary rush and the promise that they had all the time in the world. He caught her off guard when his other hand crept down, middle and index finger brushing over her clit, waiting for a beat before it came back. She gasped, sound sharp, hips bucking as her whimper begged him to do it again.

‘I miss you.’ She broke out when her orgasm snapped, mind foggy and dazed as her body soared before crashing back down again. Claire didn’t think he heard her when he continued to thrust forward, his grunts punctuating each pump. He came hot and messy inside of her, silently as his teeth bit down on her shoulder, one hand still holding tightly to her chest as the other gripped her hip.

Claire turned when he stepped away, her body already missing the way he filled her. She tugged, self consciously on the edges of her sweater as she couldn’t quite meet his eye. ‘Come home?’ She asked, watching his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

Owen bent, sliding his jeans back up his legs as he made quick business of his belt. He didn’t look at her, only sighed, half groaned as he shook his head. ‘Don’t.’ He told her, eyes on her feet where she felt her knees shaking, underwear still hanging around one ankle. He felt like he had defiled her, ruined Claire of her perfect innocence as she shook in front of him, voice wet, arms crossed over her chest. ‘Don’t do this, Claire.’ He gruffed, mad at her for thinking it would be okay to ask him back when she was the one who pushed him away. She couldn’t leave it as long as they had, letting silence sit between them before showing her face, fucking him and asking him to come home. Who did she think she was? How weak did she think  _he_  was?

Angry, he stepped around her, pushing through the bathroom door as he let himself out into the bar. Claire didn’t chase after him, she just fell back against the wall, arms tight over her chest. She could feel his cum sliding down the insides of her thighs, hot and sticky as a sob finally broke.

Overheard, the music in the bar changed, loud and rattling moved to something soft and melancholy. The Eagles sang  _Please Come Home for Christmas_  and Claire cried harder. She was an idiot. She shouldn’t have listened to Karen or her libido. She should have stayed home. She shouldn’t have sat down and accepted the drink. She certainly shouldn’t have propositioned him when she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself afterwards.


	209. #209 - The Morning After New Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: 'why are you in my bed?' 
> 
> from: https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/169167163174/the-morning-after-sentence-starters

She woke with a dull throb spreading from the centre of her head. The pain pulsated, curling in lines throughout her central nervous system as she blinked dry eyes and tried to flex sore muscles. Every inch of her ached. There was no place untouched as she stretched, back arched, eyes squeezed closed. Claire flopped back against her pillow, burying her head in the linen case as she let out a stifled groan.

What was she thinking last night?

Without warning, a large hand slid over her hip, fingers flaying across her stomach before strength pulled her into a wide chest. Claire jumped, a small shriek of surprise escaping her as she felt the very prominent signs of someone’s morning erection sitting snug against her ass. She pulled away, not playing cool, calm and collected as she dragged the bedsheets with her for cover before finding them weighted down. She let go, sitting on her knees, toes dangling off the edge as she stared at the body in her bed.

He had a hand covering his face, fingers rubbing his eyes but Claire knew exactly who it was. She felt her blood run cold, cheeks prickling as it dawned on her that Owen Grady was in her bed, Owen Grady was pulling her into his chest, and it was Owen Grady’s erection she felt and ran from like some frightened school girl.

‘Why are you in my bed?’ She asked, stuttering slightly as she glared at him. Claire raised her arms to cross them over her chest when she discovered she was naked. She grabbed the sheet again, pulling tight until it gave way, allowing Claire to clutch it to her chest as Owen’s lips grew into a Cheshire Cat smile.

He rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling before he turned his head back towards her. ‘Bad news, sweetheart, this is  _my_  bed.’ Claire felt her heart plummet further as she took in her surroundings. She had been too busy focusing on the aches of her body to realise this wasn’t her apartment at all, but Owen’s small bungalow.

Claire shook her head. She couldn’t piece her head together. All she could remember was counting down the clock ten seconds until midnight on the roof of the Innovation Centre. If she focused hard enough, she could recall someone tugging on her wrist as the countdown hit zero. The rest was black. ‘What do you remember?’ She asked Owen, hoping their nakedness was just a condition of drunkenness. He was certainly taking it in his stride, arm covering his face from the glare of morning light as he grunted, bare chest heaving. It was a flat sheet that barely covered his crotch, light grey and tenting spectacularly due to his morning glory. Claire was struggling to pull her eyes away, comfortable to stare when she knew he couldn’t see. She was transfixed on the narrowing of his hips, a v cut into the muscle as the bedsheet started just below where his pubic hair had begun growing. Need tangled in her gut, blood running south as Claire prayed her cheeks didn’t stain red. ‘Just tell me we didn’t have sex last night.’ Claire started, hand raising to her face as she tried to not to cross her fingers like a juvenile.

She didn’t bother looking for her clothes, scared to see them strewn across the floor, or worse yet, spot a condom wrapper discarded alongside them. Owen chuckled, the sound deep in his throat as he kept his eyes skywards. ‘Oh no, we had sex last night.’ He confirmed, grin growing wider, self-satisfying smirk fully in place. ‘I can’t remember anything but I remember you making this little whimpering sound right here —’ He tapped an inch below his ear. ‘— it was constant, even when you were begging me to fuck you harder.’ She didn’t miss the way his cock twitched, eyes squinted, trying to recall the slightest memory. He dropped his arm to the mattress in defeat. Claire felt her cheeks burn, embarrassment climbing up her spine as she begged for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. ’Before that? After that? I have no idea.’ He went back to scrubbing at his face. ‘Fuck. I wish I could remember.’

Claire shrugged, ‘Probably for the best that we don’t remember’. She didn’t know if she meant it, eyes trailing up and down his chest, asking her brain to at least recall what it felt to touch his chest as her fingers twitched with need.  

She was talking herself into leaving when he dropped his arm again, stretching it out towards her as his large fingers came into contact with her bare knee. ‘Happy New Year, Claire.’ He offered a supportive smile, somewhat shy. His eyes were genuine.

The thing was. Where Claire Dearing acted repulsed by the sheer  _idea_  of Owen Grady, inside she was drawn in, pulled towards him like a magnet as her curious mind felt desperate to ask questions, to explore his body and knowledge. She was more than a little disappointed with herself to discover they had fucked that New Year's Eve and neither of them were sober enough to recall it. Her body was humming, where it ached it also tingled, a small voice in the back of her mind that said he had touched her and touched her well, skin singing with the memory she couldn’t  _see_.

She let go of the flat sheet she had been clutching between her fingers for modesty. They had done this once, they could do it again despite her pounding head and the grimace on his face. ‘Maybe this will help us remember.’ She lent over him, leaning her face into his vision as she bowed, on all fours, to catch his lips with hers. The kiss was tentative, shy, unsure like it was the first time. Owen lay still under her until she moved to pull away. His hands came out of nowhere, sliding up her hips and across her ribs, applying weight to the small of her back as her chest made contact with his.

Owen hummed, ‘I think it’s working’. He winked at her, catching her lips again as Claire’s small hand disappeared between their bodies, reappearing with a tight grip around his stiff cock. Owen hissed, sound sharp against her ears. It was Claire’s turn to grin like the Cheshire Cat, self-satisfied and full of glory.


	210. #210 - Not Ashamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @lunabelles : ‘holy shit! She’s on her way over here right now, she/he CANNOT see you! 
> 
> ANON: ‘who topped?’ 
> 
> from: morning after sentence starters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s not the morning after??? nor is it a sentence starter?? idek what happened here??? It’s also 4am??

 

‘Oh, oh,  _Owen!’_  Claire moaned on a high note as her orgasm snapped and flared, sending shockwaves through her body. She gave him a lazy grin, cheeks split as she lowered her chest to his, their mouths meeting upon decent. With Owen’s arms wrapped around her back, Claire allowed herself to collapse onto him. ‘Why don’t we do this more?’

Owen hummed, fingers splayed across her back as he drew nonsense shapes, giving her a minute to recover before he started thrusting again with small strokes from beneath her sated body. ‘You work too much.’ He told her without hesitation, face drawn in stern lines as sweat continued to sit on his brow. Owen was too concerned about his own release to notice her small flinch.

He wasn’t wrong. Her hours were long and relentless, her job unforgiving. He had once asked her why she lived at the resort instead of employee housing, expecting her answer to be one of a higher standard. She lived in the Hilton purely because it provided closer access to the Innovation Centre and all that it held. Claire wasn’t exactly proud to admit that, but this was why Masrani hired her; dedication to her work. It did, however, interfere with their arrangement.

They were currently tangled in the sheets belonging to her bed in said resort apartment. It didn’t interfere that much but it certainly made Claire say ‘no’ on far too many occasions where her place was the only option. She didn’t want him spotted sneaking in and out of her apartment. She didn’t want to be caught  _fucking_  the Raptor handler when Claire knew she should damn well know better. Owen wasn’t jeopardising her job but in the eyes of a few, he was well below her league. That and she  _knew_  the hullabaloo it would cause when the Jurassic World staff uncovered that she and Owen were doing something about all that sexual tension.

He was just a bad habit. Nothing permanent. That was why she wanted no one to know. Because the second people found out would be when things started getting sticky.

Claire used work as an excuse not to see him. Late meetings. Early meetings. Busy schedule. All of it a means to control what was happening between them. To doctor when they did and did not see each other. But, work had also become her excuse to see him too. Bad day, stressful day, brilliant day, high achieving personal goals day or a completely slow and out of her mind kind of day. Owen was stress relief with a cocky smile and a firm hand on her hip. He made her happy for those short hours she allowed.

Claire pulled away from him, rolling off the man's chest as his cock slipped from her body, still hard. She pouted at him, playing sympathetic as wrapped her fingers around the base of him and brushed her lips against the tip. Claire didn't know what it was, but she liked giving Owen head. Never had she usually enjoyed that part of intercourse but Owen was selfless and Claire was happy to return the favour without his need to ask. The thing was, he never asked her to do it, never gripped her hair or forced her to stay on her knees. Things with them were always about what made the other comfortable. The sex was often rough and hard, pushing the air right out of her lungs as his hands left marks on her skin. But, never would he thrust his cock in her face and demand she swallow. Claire found she liked it when the option was her choice. Her idea. She loved it when Owen was completely unaware, the man never expecting it and always surprised when she settled between his legs and lent forward.

He propped himself up on his elbows, eager to watch as her gaze met his, Claire’s smile wicked before her lips spread across the width of him. She had barely begun when she scraped her teeth gently up the sides of his thick cock, Owen letting out a sound of pleasure when someone knocked on the door. She ignored them at first, but Owen could tell Claire's attention had shifted. She was still bobbing her head in his lap, her tongue swirling around him but not with the same focus. He sighed, dropping down on his back in defeat as the knocking persisted, Claire letting him go with an easy  _pop_  as she reached for her robe and moved for the door.

From her bedroom, Owen could hear Claire’s voice but not her words. Someone there kept her attention for a few minutes before her voice got closer, her words clearer. ‘I just need fifteen minutes and I’m all yours.’ She reappeared, cheeks red and eyes wild as she shut the door behind her with frantic movements. ‘Holy shit!’ Claire swore for the first time outside of sex. He had never heard her cuss in panic or anger, just sheer lust. ‘She’s gonna come down the hallway, she  _cannot_  see you!’ Claire moved for him, hissing as she grabbed his wrist in an attempt to pull Owen up.

‘I’m sorry? Who?’

‘Zara.’ She hissed, keeping her voice down low as Owen sagged worry flaring in the back of his mind that she had a partner who didn’t know about their  _activities._ ‘Get up.’ Claire grunted, letting go of his wrist as she stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. ‘Seriously, Owen. I don’t want her to see you.’ She busied herself in picking up his clothes, throwing them at him one by one.  

‘Where the hell am I supposed to go?’ He asked, standing in front of her, butt naked and clutching his clothes to his chest as he heard Zara’s footsteps approach the door. Claire just stared at him, wide-eyed and annoyed asking him silently how on Gods sweet Earth was she supposed to have the answer to that. Her eyes trailed behind him, landing on her large closet before she stalked towards him and encouraged the man inside.

‘Claire?’ Zara knocked on the closed bedroom door. Claire hummed in acknowledgement, opening it with a smile. ‘Do you want me to go over your schedule?’ Owen listened as the other woman perched herself on the edge of the messy bed without a word before unlocking her phone and going over Claire’s meetings for the day. The closet door was left open just an inch, enough that Owen could see Claire in the en-suit brushing her hair and starting her makeup routine.

He crouched there for ten minutes, knees starting to ache as he mourned the perfectly good erection that went to waste — for him, at least Claire seemed to enjoy it before she shoved him in her closet to put her job first.

Zara was still talking, no longer sitting as she leant against the bathroom doorframe blocking his view of Claire. He had zoned her out, too busy cursing himself for getting in the damned closet, to begin with.

He liked Claire. A lot. Owen couldn’t count on both hands the number of times he had dropped something to be at her beck and call. It was a little too eager maybe, but it said a lot about how he felt for her. He was still denying it was anything more than lust buried deep in his bones. They were working on getting it out. She had taken the opportunity one too many times to push him away and this was his final straw. Owen grunted as he forced his stiff knees to move, bringing him back to his full height as he pushed the closet door open and stepped out into Claire’s bedroom.

‘You know what? I’m too old to be hiding in the closet until the coast is clear. I did that enough when I was in high school.’ Zara startled, but Claire, standing behind her looked at Owen like she half expected him to throw in the towel. She shrugged, trying to play nonchalant as Owen’s frustrations grew. ‘Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one who shoved me in there Claire like you’re ashamed.’

‘I am — I’m not  _ashamed_  of you, Owen Grady.’ She answered but he couldn’t hear an argument as to why not. ‘Would you put some clothes on?’ She sighed, hands raising and falling to hit her hips with a soft smack. He was still naked, Zara standing so her face was turned away, embarrassment tinting her cheeks.

He apologised as he turned back to the closet to find his jeans.

‘I’m going to leave you two alone.’ Zara announced as she hurriedly moved for the door. He thought Claire’s assistant was gone when the bedroom door squeaked, her voice sparking up again. ‘Just curious,’ she started, ‘who topped?’ Owen didn’t hesitate in pointing a finger towards Claire, too scared of Claire’s wrath to verbally answer the other woman. Zara winked at him, her smirk wide as she turned back to Claire. ‘Your first meeting isn’t until ten. I won’t expect you any earlier.’ She sang ` _have fun’_  as she disappeared out of the apartment leaving Owen and Claire to their standoff.

‘I’m not ashamed of you.’ She told him again, eyes sincere but tired. Owen tracked her, watching Claire move from the en-suite to her bed, pulling herself onto it before sitting with her legs crossed. ‘I just, I don’t know.’ There was no excuse to pull. She honestly couldn’t look Owen in the eye and give him an answer as to why she panicked. It was just that: panic. She didn’t want anyone to know about them but she wasn’t ashamed. Claire was so used to keeping things private. Secrecy was her default. ‘I just didn’t want everyone in our business.’ That was honest. ‘I’m still trying to figure out what is going on here.’ She didn’t know if she wanted anything out of their relationship beyond sex. Hadn’t even stopped to think about Owen as a permanent fixture in her life. ‘If other people know they might push us in a direction we’re not ready for.’

Owen could reason with that. He didn’t know what he wanted or expected from Claire but if she felt like her boundaries were about to be pushed he would do anything to stop her from running away or feeling pressured. ‘Just don’t shove me in the closet again.’ He dropped beside her, bed bouncing under his weight. Claire nodded, chuckling softly as she apologised, her hand on his.

‘Why don’t you stop by my place later tonight and we’ll continue what we didn’t finish this morning?’ Owen asked, leaning into her side. ‘And you can’t say you’re busy because I heard Zara say your last meeting ended at seven, three times.’

She turned a grin to him, eyes rolling as she stood and stepped away from the bed. ‘I can do that.’  


	211. #211 - Charlie and Baseball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt, just me: Charlie contemplates the influence her brother would have had on her life had he lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to start working on a different C&E story. But, this one came to me first and idk here you go!

 

The sun was shining above her head, not a cloud in sight as blue sky stretched for miles. The weather was supposed to turn, she heard it announced on the radio in her father’s truck. Her coach was getting ready to call forfeit the second it started raining. They weren’t about making these girls play in the rain.

The pitch smelt of dirt and sweat, just as it always did, singing a reminder of the adults who used the field for most of the week. Charlie took a deep breath, taking it all in as she squeezed her eyes closed, imagining it was Yankee Stadium, smelling of peanuts and popcorn, floor sticky with someone’s spilled drink. She imagined the cheers as she swung, home run soaring out of the park as spectators looked on in disbelief. She could be a champion fit for the big leagues.

‘Batter up!’ The umpire called, as Charlie pulled herself from the dugout. She stood at the plate, bat smooth in her hands as she wrung her fingers around it, trying to find her perfect grip. She eyed off the pitch and the girl standing in the centre, ready to throw Charlie off her game. LA girls were ruthless, Charlie had learnt. The season was only just beginning but they were playing hard, trying to prove themselves: everyone was. It was do or die, time to start proving their game so they weren’t pushed into softball teams just to get a sports scholarship. The game was getting rough, every season the faces changed, even in her own team, the number of girls quickly dwindling as people pushed them off the team and out of their dreams.

They were down two runs. Charlie was the last batter for the game. If she could bring them all home she single-handedly won it for everyone else. If she could win it, the boys couldn’t shrug her off the team.

‘C’MON CHARLIE!’ A voice yelled in the stands out to her left. She turned her head, knowing full well the pitcher could decide to throw in that moment. ‘KNOCK ‘EM DEAD!’ She caught eyes on the little voice, a boy leaning over the rails as he waved his arm in the hair, big grin on his face, trademark Dearing-Grady hair getting ruffled in a breeze she couldn’t feel. ‘SHOW ‘EM WHAT YA GOT!’ Her eyes travelled north, further up the stands to spot her family, Mom and Dad sitting in the stands with Elliot, all of them grinning at her, thumbs raised as Owen stood and cheered her on.

The pitcher took pity on her distraction. It was nothing longer than a few seconds as Charlie turned back to the opposing player and gave her a short nod. She was ready. The ball came flying towards her, Charlie’s eye on it the whole time as she waited for the right moment before swinging. Bat and ball collided with a satisfying smack.

The boy behind her was screaming, his voice cracking with every word. ‘Go, Charlie! Run! What are you waiting for?!’ She didn’t need to look back at her family to know they were on their feet, yelling just as madly, making the most noise in the stands as she bolted for first base, her eyes on the teammate moving for second. She sought for the ball up in the blue sky catching the fielders still waiting for it to fall.

With the boy’s voice in her head, she pushed for second. The team stopped, two home, the third unwilling to move. ‘Move, Dalton!’ Charlie shouted one foot on the second base, ready to sprint forward. The boy in front of her shook his head. ‘Move!’ Charlie yelled again, hands in the air, knowing she couldn’t run for third if Dalton didn’t run for home. The boy shook his head again before rolling his eyes at Charlie’s impatience. Third base was free, Charlie pushing all her energy into sprinting as fast and hard as she could. Her helmet rattled on her head, inches too big as her feet touched third and pushed on for home. She could hear the kid again, Elliot joining him at the edge of the stands, the both of them yelling her name in encouragement. They were telling her to hurry, the ball finally hit the ground as outfielders scrambled for it over Charlie’s shoulder. She had seconds before it would fly towards the hands of the waiting fielder already standing on the home plate.

Charlie made it, leaping as one foot touched down on home base, feet sliding in the dirt as she landed on her rump before falling flat on her back. ‘She’s home!’ The umpire called, Charlie laughing in the dirt as she heard her siblings cheering, their voices distinctive in the crowd. A teammate came over to help her up, extending a hand as Charlie took it.

‘Good work, Grady.’ It was one of the stern-faced boys, the first to pipe up that keeping her on the team was going to bring them down. She grinned, shit eating amusement pulling at her cheeks as he clapped a hand on his back once he helped pull her up.

The game was over in a heartbeat, the LA team down by a single point as they kicked at the dirt in defeat. Before she knew it, Charlie was being pounced on. ‘Did you — did you see what you did?!’ The boy asked, jumping on the spot in front of her, dirt kicking up around his feet. ‘You just — smack — and,’ he whistled, ‘everyone ran — and you ran! Charlie, it hit the edge of the field! You coulda gotten it out of the park!’ He was bursting with excitement, hands in the air as he reenacted her play. ‘Those boys are so stupid if they don’t want you on the team no more.’ She couldn’t help but grin, rolling her eyes a little. It wasn’t her first home run of her career, not even for the season. He always thought everything she did was the best it had ever been, life-altering and completely marvellous. She ruffled a hand through his strawberry blond curls, amusing the boy as her sense of pride heightened.  

‘How about you give your sister some breathing space, Max.’ Owen suggested bringing up the rear of their family unit, Claire and Elliot walking a few steps ahead. Charlie tucked the boy into her side, giving him a squeeze before she let him go. ‘You did good today, bug.’ Charlie grimaced at the old pet name, sure she had grown out of it years ago as Owen pulled her in for a hug and kissed the top of her head. The fifteen-year-old didn’t shrug away from his affection, she was always happy for her father’s hug, swearing she would never be embarrassed by it.

‘I mean, I only did so well because I had my own personal cheering squad.’ She grinned at her siblings. The both of them wearing shirts with her number on it. ‘I never would have gone for home if they didn’t say I was safe.’ That wasn’t true. Charlie was pushing for it before the ball even hit her bat. Never would she let spectators influence her in-game decisions. But, her eight and ten-year-old siblings didn’t need to know that. ‘Hey, Dad?’ She asked, watching the man wrap his arms around Max’s shoulders as he ruffled his hands through the youngest Grady’s hair. ‘Can we go get ice-cream?’ His eyes instantly moved to the redhead beside him, Elliot tucked into her mother’s side. The youngest two turned wide eyes onto the parents who were holding them close as Owen grinned.

‘Anything for my girl headed for the majors.’

[…]

She woke with a searing headache, eyes heavy as her right hand throbbed. Her bedroom was grey, the light murky as it slipped through her window and swam across the floor. The rain had come, sound light on the roof above her head as she groaned, rolling herself onto her back.

If she strained her ears and willed everything to be still, Charlie could hear her parents arguing downstairs. She couldn’t quite catch their words, but the tone was all there. They  _knew_  and they were mad. Charlie squeezed her eyes closed, focusing on her breathing as she willed it all away. She wanted her dream to come back to her; Max, ice-cream and her place on the team. It felt so much easier. Charlie wanted it that way. She couldn’t help but think if they still had Max that her game would have turned out differently that day, she wouldn’t have found her own way home, uniform muddy and bat heavy. Her coaches voice wouldn’t have been ringing in her ears with scolding words and a final remark.

There was no one watching her. No Mom or Dad sitting in the stands. Elliot had some ballet audition or some such thing Charlie didn’t pay enough attention to and there was an emergency down at the zoo. She was fifteen, old enough to play a game without parental supervision. That was a bad move, Charlie thought, still trying to fully understand her actions. She was provoked but no one seemed to care. Coach didn’t see it that way. Her parents wouldn’t see it that way. They’ll all say the same thing. She shouldn’t have done it. She should have kept her aggression in check. Her father was bound to look at her with tired green eyes and say, ‘ _I thought we sorted this out, Charlie_ ’. She could already see him shaking his head, hand on the back of his neck as he squeezed. The eldest Grady was sick of disappointing them.

Charlie pulled herself up, phone in hand as she searched for her earphones before stripping off her clothes and redressing in a pair of gym-shorts and one of her mom’s old college tees. She turned her music on, sound directly in her ears as Charlie pulled her sneakers on and laced them tight.

She headed for the door despite the rain, music playing loud, the sound rattling around in her head. Charlie thought she could make it, her hand reaching for the handle, sure she could slip out without being noticed. A hand grabbed her arm, making her sigh heavily as she turned.

Charlie met her father’s tired eyes, stressed and panicked as she plucked the earphones away from their perch ready to meet him with a blank expression and noncommittal grunts. ‘What the hell happened today, kid?’ He asked, words angry, each sound biting. She shrugged, moving around him and heading for the kitchen where she knew her mother was standing in wait. There was no point throwing a tantrum, Charlie knew that. Instead, she gave in to the discussion at hand knowing it was better to get the whole thing over and done with so she could spend her evening how she liked.

‘Where were you going?’ Claire asked arms crossed over her chest as she caught sight of Charlie’s attire.

‘For a run.’ The girl answered with a blunt shrug, glaring at her mother like the question itself offended her. Where else would she be going to in gym shorts and a hand-me-down Stanford athletics tee?

‘It’s raining out.’ Her mother gestured towards the wide expanse of glass that was the back of their house, reaching into the water soaked yard. Charlie shrugged, not quite meeting Claire’s eye. She knew they were sick of this fifteen-year-old bullshit. She heard both of them say it enough as Charlie slipped off to bed or disappeared out the door. She just didn’t know how to tell them that she didn’t understand it either and getting mad at her for useless shit didn’t help the situation at all. Part of it was hormonal, the other part was just Charlie as she had always been: pushing the limits on her free time and physical fitness.

‘Coach called.’ It was Claire who announced it, Owen, by her side as Charlie slipped onto a barstool at the counter. She waited for their annoyance, for the blows of a grounding to the likes she’d never seen. Charlie wondered briefly if her parents were going to announce she was moving schools, trying for another team that hadn’t faced her wrath. She was fifteen, had no roots tied down beyond friends and until that morning had been deadly serious about baseball. ‘You got kicked off the team, Charlie.’ She shrugged again. That wasn’t the kicker. It wasn’t even the worst part of her week. Her mother sounded mildly disappointed but it was misplaced in her head. The tone was mourning, sympathising before it was judgemental.

Owen sighed, hand scrubbing across his face before he turned back to her. ‘You hit someone,  _two_  people, kid, you broke their noses. They think you broke the boy's wrist too.’ She had hoped so.   Would have fucked up their potential careers like she was ruining hers if someone hadn’t pulled her off them. Charlie only shrugged again.

‘They deserved it.’

It was only now that she was older, gaining up on her adult years that her parents started to show a lot more frustration when they were mad. Owen still held back, trying not to startle his children and to keep the whole thing under control. Elliot was only ten, she never did anything wrong in her life but when she did he was always calm. Charlie though, Charlie got to hear every tick of the gears in his brain working as he tried to figure her out. Owen was losing his grip on the eldest, scared of the maddening world of teenage girls as he let go of her hand and trusted she would make it through. The road was rocky and it was driving them apart. He lost her to periods and mood swings, not that either scared Owen Grady — he was a man, and real men didn’t shy away when a woman mentioned her period. Or so he told her, somewhat clumsily when she first got hers, Claire, in New York on some business trip leaving Dad the only one to deal with Charlie. Who was prepared — Claire had known that moment was going to come when she wasn’t home or readily available — she just couldn’t find a single pad or tampon in the places her mother had shown her. Owen had to drive to the store. He kept his distance, understanding that it was definitely not a  _dad_  world.  

‘What on Earth is going on here, Charlie?’ He gritted his teeth, trying to level his breathing and failing. ‘I can’t keep up with you anymore.’ He said it like she was plotting world domination and setting everything on fire in her tracks. They hadn’t had a run in for a little while. She had been on her best behaviour. It was just moments like this, complete bewilderment that pushed both adults to the edge. They thought they had dealt with this in her four years of counselling when she was seven. They hadn’t said those words yet, but she was waiting.

‘I was provoked!’ Charlie argued, raising her eyes to her father before sliding them a few inches towards Claire, begging that they understood where she was coming from. ‘How am I supposed to keep my cool when that  _asshole_  and his little  _bitch_  was in my face?!’ Charlie spat, knowing full well that she had a breathing exercise to follow but couldn’t in that moment. She watched her mom grit her teeth, eyes closed and lips pursed ready to chastise Charlie for her language any second.

How was she supposed to keep her cool as the teams walked alongside each other, shaking hands on a game well played when one stopped at Charlie, a smile already climbing up his face a snake. She remembered his face, caught him out twice when his ball flew into her side of the field. He wasn’t impressed. The eldest Grady saw her coming from a mile away, he had been fuming the two times she caught him out of play when his ball flew into her side of the diamond, Charlie catching it immediately. ‘ _I don’t know why you bother, Grady. You’re just a_ girl _you ain’t going nowhere in this game.’_ A rage flared inside of her, sick of the sneer and the torment. They won the game and this cocky jock thought he could get even by playing bitter.

She moved without thinking, knowing no one would stop her. Her mom wasn’t watching, nor her dad or Elliot. Max died eight years ago. She didn’t have a little brother for support, someone who wanted to be just like her in his peewees. She wasn't a role model, not to Elliot and she was always destined to be outshined by the middle Grady anyway.

Charlie still held her bat in her hand, had been swinging it between her fingers languidly as they shook hands with the opposing team. When  _Maruo #11_  seethed in her direction, slipping his hand out of her grasp as he spat at her feet and insulted her chances, Charlie acted on reflex, bat solid under her fingers as she swung hard and low to knock his knees out.

She jumped him the second he was down, one knee in the dirt, the other pressing her metal cleats into his right wrist. Charlie had her bad secured between her knee and the side of the boy’s body as she threw a heavy punch into the centre of his face. She hit him a second time before a girl from his team,  _Wesley_ , pulled at Charlie’s shoulder. ‘ _You can’t kill him like you killed your brother!_ ’ The other boy had sneered, not even alarmed at the blood on Maruo’s face.

Charlotte Mae Dearing-Grady knew better. She spent way too long in counselling learning how to channel the red-hot rage that was climbing up her throat and tensing in the knuckles of her hand.  She knew she should have stepped back, left the stadium, even, and counted her breaths until she was calm. Charlotte Mae Dearing-Grady threw that logic out the window when greasy haired boys started thinking she couldn’t outrank them in sport and thought bringing up her  _brother_  was a smart move. She turned on Wesley, hand reaching out to grab at the boy’s jersey. Charlie pulled herself up, grip firm on his jersey, arm already arched back. She heard the crack of his nose the second her hand made contact with his face.

Charlie wasn’t about to tell her parents that. Her place in baseball had been challenged and lost for an inability to keep her cool. And if they knew about Max, it would only break their hearts. The fact that kids still  _knew_  about it, eight years on was driving her mad. Charlie put the boys in their place. She did what she had to do. She acted without thinking and she was going to stand by that move.

‘They were talking out of line.’ Charlie told him. It was what she told her coach too. Neither of them was getting a full answer and she knew that was part of the reason her parents had her sitting down. They wanted the truth. Sure, she wasn’t allowed to hit people either but Charlie knew her coach didn’t buy a single bar of her story and knew the kid was likely to tell her father or mother the truth. ‘They not suing or nothin’, are they?’ Charlie asked, watching her mother more than Owen. There was a loose packet of Reece’s Pieces sitting inches from her hands, Charlie’s fingers gravitating towards it as she fiddled with the plastic unsure if it belonged to her, Elliot or Owen. Claire would never have been so reckless as to leave her candy lying about.

Claire shook her head, answering Charlie’s question silently. She swatted at Charlie’s hand, making the girl drop the sweets. The teen met her mother’s eyes, catching the concern as Claire watched her daughter’s bloody knuckles. She was holding back every protective instinct in her being she had fine turned over fifteen years. Claire wanted desperately to take Charlie’s hands in hers to wipe them clean and bandage them to save off an infection. Charlie ignored it. ‘Then whats the bother? They’re not makin’ a peep because I was in the right. So, can I go on my run now?’ She smacked her hands against the counter as she slid off the stool, done with the conversation whether her parents were or not.

‘Charlie, you need to know that your behaviour reflects on the whole team.’ Claire added, stepping around Owen as she came to stand beside him, Charlie desperately trying to leave the room.

The girl sighed, shoulders falling with a loud huff. ‘Yeah, and you know what. I’m not making them look bad anymore because I was kicked off. So, you know, they can all go lead their best lives or whatever, Mom … Dad. Can I please go try to find a new purpose before I’m compelled to jump off a bridge or something?’ They nodded as one unit, letting Charlie head for the door, one earphone back in her ear as she tapped on the screen of her phone.

They didn’t startle at her comments, just let her

Claire followed her quietly, hesitating before she called out. ‘Charlie?’ Her hand reached her daughter's arm, causing the girl to turn to her with a sneer. ‘Hey, you don’t need a sports scholarship for college, okay.’ She needed her daughter to understand losing her place on the team wasn’t the be all and end all of the world. They could pay for tuition, Charlie knew that but Claire wasn’t so sure she  _remembered_  it. Charlie didn’t need a purpose. Claire didn’t care what her daughters grew up to accomplish. She would have preferred hard ass business women and lawyers but the older they got, the more that reality slipped away. She just needed them happy, well rounded and self-satisfied. Charlie considered sport her one out of everything. It was how they channelled her anger. Maybe it had been their fault. Her drive too focused she couldn’t see beyond a baseball diamond or the running track. Charlie nodded, accepting her mother's statement, her sneer turning to a flat line of her mouth. ‘Do you want a ride to the rec centre? I don’t want you running in the rain.’

Charlie shook her head. ‘I’ll head that way, though. Okay?’

‘Send me a text, I’ll pick you up whenever you’re ready.’ The girl nodded, giving her mom a fleeting smile before she pulled the door open and slipped out into the rain.


	212. #212 - Elliot and Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Elliot’s possessive nature towards her mother and the odd occasion she lets her daddy be the one to cuddle her.   
> (The original prompt was way too long to be stuck on here. But, this is the jist.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still trying to work out the kinks of a block I’m having with TKC. But, for your patience have some sweet C&E times.

He had only been home three months and the groove that Owen had left faded in his absence. Owen had always struggled to reintegrate into civilian life. He thought, in having a wife and two daughters now that things would be different but he still felt awkward, out of place. Claire was trying her best to include him in her meticulous routine. They struggled regardless, Claire finding the change awkward after adjusting to solo parenting for six months.

Charlie was easy, she welcomed her father back with arms open wide, happy to drop the routine her mother had implemented now that Owen was home. Elliot was harder to convince, his youngest barely recognised him. She wasn’t giving in to his resurgence in their lives, instead Elliot, a year old, unapologetically consumed his wife’s time and attention.

Owen didn’t mind. He was too caught up in marvelling at his youngest child who had changed so much in his absence she seemed like a completely different person. He missed six-months and suddenly Elliot was blabbering small words, capable of walking around the house on two very wobbly legs. She was stubbornly finding an interest in feeding herself, sitting at her highchair pulled up to the dining table, pushing her mothers' hands away from her plastic cutlery so Elliot could do it herself. He had missed so much. Owen knew it was one of the risks in returning to the Navy but it hadn’t hit him in its entirety until he was home witnessing all the changes in his baby.

‘Charlie’s back at 5pm, right?’ Owen asked before taking his place a few inches from Claire on the couch. His wife paused, a printed report in her hand lowering as she ran through the internal schedule in her head. She nodded quickly, confirming that Charlie was out with her grandparents and not due to return until later. ‘So, it’s just you, me and the little bug?’ He reached over to bop Elliot’s nose, the girl curled up in her mother’s lap, head on Claire’s shoulder as she glared at him with sleepy eyes.

They had gone over this already. It was the reason why Claire was reading through a report on the couch, Elliot still crawling out of her nap in her lap rather than Claire working in her office or rousing Ellie in the master bedroom. She was waiting for him. They had planned to put on a more adult film, still appropriate for Ellie’s little eyes but without the worry that it would imprint on Charlie’s well-developed mind. If they put a film on now, it would finish in time for Charlie to walk through the door with her grandparents by her side.

Owen put the movie on, sitting back as he watched his wife instead of the screen. He missed this. Seeing her with the baby, holding Elliot with one hand and their year-old daughter slumped against her mother’s chest, head on Claire’s shoulder, pacifier in her mouth. She hadn’t stopped glaring at her dad but he ignored it, too in love with her grumpy little frown and tired expression. He missed the way Charlie snuggled into his arms every time she woke from a nap, little body hot as it came out of slumber. He missed how cuddly she was, how loving and accepting of his hugs. Charlie still had a habit of climbing into their bed in the mornings, sleepily seeking out affection. It just didn’t feel the same now that she was six-years-old.

Elliot only wanted her mother. She was making a name for herself as a screamer, unafraid to let havoc rain down on anyone who fetched her from her nap that wasn’t Claire. She didn’t cry at Charlie, but grizzled, annoyed and yet complacent with her mother’s look-a-like.

He watched the movie while Elliot cuddled her mother, Owen’s arm stretching across the back of the couch as his fingers came in contact with the hair at the nape of Claire’s neck. Owen barely had a chance to curl her hair around his fingers before Elliot’s little hand was plucking at his arm, trying to remove it from her mother’s space as he complied, watching her with a hurt look as she grunted.

Elliot managed a rough ‘ _dad, dad, dad, dad_ ’ in a grumpy little voice as if to sold him. It caught her mother’s attention, Claire turning her head to watch them over Elliot’s shoulder as Owen gaped at her. It wasn’t the first time Elliot had shoved him away or grunted at him, he was sure in early infancy she had learnt to glare at him, often nursing in her mother’s arms and staring him down as if to say his wife belonged to her now.

‘Where’d she get this possessive streak?’ He asked, frowning slightly as Elliot rubbed her face against Claire’s shoulder, losing her pacifier in the process. Owen picked it up, the item sitting by his wife’s hip and handed it back to the little girl who accepted it gracefully, frown still in place.

Claire scoffed, ‘It’s all from you, babe’. Owen refused to see himself as possessive. Elliot lounged in her mother’s lap, snuggled in close with an arm wrapped around Claire’s as her other hand sat on Claire’s chest, small fingers fiddling with the neckline of her top. She couldn’t be any more draped around the woman if she tried.

He liked to think himself a little more in control of that impulse. So what if he liked showing off pictures of his wife with their daughters, proving she was his. It didn’t hurt that his hand found the firm curve of her ass when they were out, especially when the heads of other men turned in her direction. Owen wouldn’t call it possessive. Claire would.

‘She’s just unsure of you.’ Claire offered, face turned back to their move. ‘You left for six months, came back with a beard and you shaved that off last week. Try and think about how she feels.’ A hand rubbed at Elliot’s back, Claire soothing the little girl still waking from her nap and more than happy for the cuddles her mom was providing.

The beard had been a fiasco in and of itself, he had shot himself in the foot with that one. Claire was right, Elliot had grown accustomed to his face with a few inches of thick beard and when he cut it down to his regular shadow after it started to bother him — and his wife’s sensitive skin — he and Elliot went back to page one.

‘My face ain’t changing again, kid.’ He promised, reaching over to stroke the back of her head. It was part of the problem, but not all. Elliot liked him, was just as happy to be held by him as she was her grandparents or her aunts, it was just when she was in her mother’s arms that she didn’t want a bar of the man who helped create her. ‘You know, sometimes I think; wow, I rushed all the way to New York to be there for her birth and she repays me with animosity.’

‘You rushed all the way to New York because your wife was in premature labour three months early and was scared out of her wits. That and I would never have forgiven you if you left me to go through all that alone.’ Claire reminded him, voice stern as she rested her head against Elliot’s, taking a deep breath to distract herself from the turbulent memories of her birth.

Owen leant into his wife, leaning over Elliot to kiss Claire’s cheek as the little girl grunted again, repeating his name as she gave his shoulder a sharp push. ‘I never would have let you go through that alone, Claire.’ She already knew it but sometimes his words needed to be checked back in place. ‘Is it wrong that I’m jealous?’ He had already thought it a few times that afternoon, but Owen really missed snuggly babies. His chest and arms ached, missing the hold of his little daughters happy for a cuddle. Owen knew Charlie would be home in a few hours and would fling herself into his arms, not leaving his lap until she had shared her day with him. And, if he was lucky, after she had her bath and was dressed for bed there was a chance his eldest would curl back up in his lap and snuggle until she fell asleep.

Claire shook her head. ‘Not at all.’ She smiled at him softly, once again kissing Elliot’s hair and taking in the faint baby smell of her youngest daughter. ‘I used to be jealous of you and Charlie. She  _always_  wanted you. I remember spending the day with her, God, when she was a year and something, almost two maybe. I had to call in sick to work because you had something come up at The Zoo and it’s my job to look after her when you can’t. But, I just remember that I was still figuring out the ropes with her, I really hadn’t had an opportunity where it would be Charlie and me alone all day since the first incident. I threw myself into being the best mom I could be — we had a great day, I soothed her tears when she cried, I made her favourite snacks, we played and coloured and ran around the yard. I had put something on the stove for dinner when you walked in the door, Charlie was on my hip. She had actually asked me to carry her a few times that day and I was still balled over completely by that request. She never usually asked for me. But, you came home, took her off my hip and it was all about Daddy suddenly. My heart actually  _ached_  at the loss of her. You fed her, you bathed her, you dressed her and you put her to bed. I was just  _there_. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt jealous of your bond, I mean, I’ve always felt jealous; still am a little. You and Charlie fit together so well I can’t imagine your life without her now.’

He sighed, watching the far-off look in Claire’s eye as she tried to recall Charlie only a little older than Elliot was now. ‘Its okay to be jealous. I understand how you’re feeling but it really is just a phase, she’ll grow out of it and you’ll be begging for free time.’ He knew his wife was talking from experience. She and Charlie still had a rocky road on occasion but they got along now and his eldest daughter knew that her mother could be useful when needed. Claire and Charlie were too similar to continue their lives avoiding each other. Just like how he and Charlie fit together, Claire had a slot in that equation too.

‘She’ll come around.’ Claire promised by didn’t force the girl into his arms. He went back to the movie, happy to sit in their company until Charlie was home, there to help the man feel useful in a house that had learnt to manage without him.

He was happy for his wife, thrilled that Elliot clung to her the way Charlie had clung to him. She deserved to be worshipped by their little daughters, loved and adored around the clock. Elliot loved her mama and there was nothing he would do to stop that bond from forming. He just wished he could cuddle her every now and then.

‘Keep fighting for my attention though, I love it.’ His wife’s hand found his knee, her laughter light as she grinned at him, beaming like she was the sun herself.

[…]

Charlie and Owen were playing Go-Fish in the grass, sun beaming above their heads. They had settled in a small corner of the yard, hat on Charlie’s head, Owen foregoing one despite knowing that his wife was seconds away from scolding him for it. His wife and Elliot were in the other corner, sitting by Claire’s veggie patch as Elliot smashed a few toys together.

It was the perfect lazy Sunday afternoon. The girls were happy, Claire had relaxed, they planned to order in for dinner, leaving them the rest of the day with their girls, happily playing and taking their time with a bath routine.

The girls had run them ragged all day Saturday. Keeping them under house arrest wasn’t the smartest move but they adapted to it, starting their morning with lazy cuddles and setting the tone from there.

Charlie was getting agitated with the game they were playing. She was losing and unhappy about it as Owen laid the cards down, wondering if six was too young to teach his daughter poker just to save his mind. Absorbed in the game, he almost missed Elliot wobbling her way across the yard. He was caught on her every time she got up to walk. She marvelled him, Charlie had done the same at that age. A parental need to protect was heightened as he ensured he could catch her the second she started to tilt the wrong way. Elliot wasn’t confident on her legs but she was determined. They all knew she could have crawled across the grass and moved much faster but she elected not to.

‘It’s your turn, Daddy.’ Charlie told him impatiently as Owen watched Elliot cross the yard, his hand extended to the girl who took each step with calculated movements. He knew, if he leant down onto his side he’d be able to reach her enough to pull the girl into his lap. But, if Elliot was anything like her sister, she would want to do it herself.

He put his card down on top of Charlie’s quickly before turning back to his youngest, watching her with an encouraging smile. She reached him with a big grin, Owen loudly applauding her as Elliot giggled, body wobbling as her little hand clamped down on his shoulder. He knew she didn’t like it when he tried to help so Owen left her be, taking his next turn as Elliot clung to his arm. She clumsily climbed into his lap, half falling as he wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. Elliot grumbled in his lap, one of his large hands on her hip as she rubbed at her eyes.

‘What’re you doing, little one?’ He asked his youngest with a chuckle, smiling down at her before turning his gaze towards his wife. She was watching them with a gentle smile as he felt the pressure of Elliot’s head rest on his chest. Elliot yawned. ‘Is it nap time?’ He asked the girl, receiving a slow nod as she settled in against the cotton of his shirt, her back supported by the thick width of his arm.

Something in his heart tugged, that special place reserved for melting moments of complete admiration. It jumped whenever Claire gave him a lazy smile followed by an easy peck on her lips. It wobbled every time his girls called him  _Daddy_  despite it being five years since he heard it first from Charlie’s young mouth. It danced in loving swirls every time he saw his wife with his daughters, be it the three of them snoozing in his bed or simply getting buckled into the car. But now, it was jumping leaps and bounds, yanking as hard as it could to get his attention. He was sure less adrenaline had run through his body the first time he asked Claire on a date.

Elliot had come to him. Elliot had sought out a sleepy pre-nap cuddle from the man she only grunted and grizzled at. Albeit she still made that sound, small frown on her face, but she had picked herself up and worked her way across the yard when her mother had been an arms reach away. She chose him.

He wrapped his arm around her tighter, heart soaring as he lowered his face to the top of her head, taking in the still lingering baby smell she carried. He kissed her blonde hair, waiting for Charlie to make her move before he placed the next card. He could do this, he could not make a big deal about whatever walls Elliot had erected, finally falling down.

‘Go-Fish!’ Charlie sounded, young hand snapping down on the pile of cards between them. He hadn’t even been paying attention, mind to drawn to the girl in his arms as her sister made her flinch. Elliot grizzled, burying herself closer to her father as Charlie’s loud noise disrupted her closing eyes.

Owen warned Charlie on her volume, little girl rolling her eyes as she dragged in all the cards she had won. ‘How about you go see if Mom needs any help?’ He suggested, watching Charlie pick herself up and sulk towards her mom. She had watched him with a knowing eye, annoyed that his attention had shifted from her to Elliot now that the toddler was in his lap.

Elliot was falling quickly, sleep settling over her bones as a small hand clutched in the fabric of his shirt. He readjusted how he was sitting, shuffling to lean against the tree he and Charlie had been playing beside, knees arched as he cradled Elliot in the curve of his spine.

She was warm, heavy, her skin soft in her little girl shorts and a brushed cotton tee. She smelt so sweetly of baby shampoo and the strawberries still stained on her shirt. He couldn’t help but hold her close to his chest, one hand surrounding her, thumb stroking a line on her tiny knee as the other brushed over her knuckles still clinging tight to his shirt right above his beating heart.

Heart and soul, he was hers, just as he belonged to Charlie and with added body, was owned by Claire. They had been parents for six years and it was still catching him off guard, small moments like this where his heart leapt for joy, aching with love, swelling with absolute pride. Elliot, lost to the land of dreams in his arms, looked so much like her mother, nose curved and small lips parted. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. His wife. His girls. The house they owned, the jobs they held.

He and Ellie had their differences. She thought herself the fierce guardian of her mama. She did not yet understand that it was his position but would one day come to realise their places coincided. She would grow to understand the things he had done for her, the things her mother had done for all of them. He could wait until then, happy for her to remain the tiny baby that she was in his arms, too ready to grow up when she shouldn’t be.

‘Everything okay?’ Claire asked, fingers sliding through her husband's hair as she smiled down at him and their smallest daughter. Owen nodded, grinning up at Claire with a bite in the back of his throat.

He couldn’t help but feel emotional. She chose him. They all chose him.


	213. #213 - All Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: ‘I’d offer you breakfast, but I think I’m too sore to move’. 
> 
> Rated E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a morning after but none of you are going to complain. 
> 
> I don’t usually put warnings on fics but this one contains bondage, if that’s not your thing don’t read and if you’re under 18 obviously don’t read but I’m also not your mom and I was reading smut before 18 too so like idk knock yourself out just be safe with your lives. Fanfic isn’t real. yada yada.

ANON: ‘I’d offer you breakfast, but I think I’m too sore to move’.   
           From: [The Morning After Sentence Starters](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/169167163174/the-morning-after-sentence-starters)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They stumbled in the door reminiscent of days from their youth, laughter bubbling between them as they tiptoed into the apartment that only housed the two of them.

The night was a simple one. Yet another Claire Dearing led black-tie function. He was growing to hate those things and the tailored suits she had fitted for him that came along with it. Claire was independent, she didn’t need Owen to attend events with her. She always asked, always gave him the option and for that, he attended, never missing an opportunity to catch Claire dressed up to the nines.

He wondered if she knew that; he would do anything for her so long as she asked.

Claire turned on him, the two of them standing in the living room, smiles wide, cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol they had consumed. It wasn’t enough to leave them drunk, only enough to make her cheeks pink and her giggles linger. Owen grabbed her, one hand finding her wrist while the other slid around her waist reminding him of what it felt like to return home. Her body his comfort pressed up against the planes of his.

He kissed her unable to stop himself as she drowned their apartment in quiet laughter.

She smiled at him lazily when they pulled apart, dreamily as her eyelashes fluttered and her tongue licked her lips. ‘You were so good tonight.’ She tells him like a mother praising a child the only difference is that he knows those roles don’t apply. He would never be like this with his mother. Claire has her hands on his chest, her nimble fingers flicking at the buttons of his shirt. ‘I know those things are boring. I really appreciate that you make the effort and play civil.’ He hummed. Anything for her. There’s always a husband or two at events like those that sit in a corner and pout. Owen talked to the people she told him to talk to, mingled, showed off, swooned over her when she wasn’t in his presence and he made her dance at least once in front of everyone.

Claire lingered, eyes watching her fingers as he held her, the two of them swaying in the quiet of the night, music from the gala lingering in their minds. ‘You deserve a reward.’ She told him boldly, eyes sliding up to meet his as her arms wrapped around his neck. She was funny like that. Rewarding him for things he never felt she owed him for. He was happy just to see her smile. Happy to understand he had done something she asked and to her satisfaction. He, however, never turned down a reward.

Owen raised a brow. The tone always changed when she said that word, the man already knowing part of what she implied as he tried to think back to how much she had to drink. Her hands slid back to their previous place before her fingers fiddled with his tie loosening it off as the silk slipped free. She stepped away from him, wrists twisting in his tie as she held her arms out to him, sides of her palms touching, bone to bone.

‘Really?’ He asked, not quite believing it. Claire didn’t like it when they did this. She didn’t have enough trust in him. Owen tried not to be offended. It was an issue of control not on how trustworthy he could be. There was a place in her mind unable to disassociate the bad connotations to dominance. For so long men had taken advantage. Claire could not let go of that.

She hated having her hands bound, restrained, held back. She could obey the instruction. If he asked her not to touch she would listen. Ties were unnecessary. Nevertheless, there were several feet of Tossa Jute cut up into individual bunches in the closet, purchased in a want to do things right. It was one thing to use the tie from his neck to secure her wrists to the posts of the bed, it was another to use bondage ropes with the comfort of knowing his knots would hold.

Claire was coming around to it, curiosity peaking when he explained shibari was an art. The submissive the ‘model’ and the dominant the ‘rigger’. It sounded less controlling like that. He would pose her and she would sit pretty, only able to feel her pleasure rather than participate in it. Maybe it was worse. Owen had been clumsy with his explanation when he first told her about it, his cheeks hot and flushed. She made a quip concerning his concealed knowledge about art.

Owen discovered the art of shibari in Japan while he was stationed there for several months, left to bide his time in a foreign country. It was the knots that caught his attention at first, leaving him to reminisce about his youthful days where his grandfather would hand him a knot and ask the boy to replicate it. There was nothing Owen couldn’t tackle. It was only the natural progression of things that it found an in to his sex life.

The art of shibari worked to contrast the natural contours of the human body against the rope, the ties were intricate and simple all at once wrapping around thigh and shin, making the body one limb instead of several. In most cases it encouraged an increase in blood flow, heightening certain aspects of an individuals pleasure as well as igniting the adrenal glands. He was shy to admit that he lied rigging ropes, Claire’s smile soft, her eyes sincere as she listened to him hesitantly letting him show her as he promised not to do it too tight.

She nodded, promising it was what she wanted with intrigue glimmering in her eyes. His breath hitched, cock twitching. His pants were suddenly too tight, clothes constricting, his body all the more ready to devour her and do away with any kind of foreplay. He wanted to teach her. Wanted to encourage a loving interest. Claire continued to unfold in front of him. Her walls crumbled, trust growing as she allowed him in. He was happy taking things at her pace, comfortable with knowing she might never be comfortable with some of the things he liked. His job there was to improve her trust, broaden her experience and hopefully remain by her side for the rest of his days. It humbled Owen to know she wanted to do this for  _him_ , thinking that it was the least she could do for forcing him through yet another boring gala. Owen should have told her that a blowjob would suffice.

He reached for her, a hand on her loosely tied wrists as he removed his tie with one tug and tossed it on the floor. His hand found her hair, smoothing down the already controlled strands as his other hand stroked her cheek, fingers brushing past her lips. ‘You’re a good girl.’ He told her, proud, feeling the chill that ran across her body like lightening scattering across the sky.

Claire nodded, watching his face with wide doe eyes as she took one of his fingers into her mouth and sucked hard. Her teeth grazed his skin, gently, eyes gleaming in a challenge as he felt his cock twitch again.

She was the one to pull them into their bedroom, hand tangled with his. He moved ahead of her when they stepped over the threshold, Claire remaining by the door as she watched him. She was unsure in this fantasy world of his. She stood, waiting for instruction knowing this was his domain if she moved without express permission he had room to punish her. It wouldn’t be bad, Claire knew that she just didn’t like the thought of misbehaving and letting him down.

Owen returned to her, rope in his hands as he grinned like she was a well-coveted jewel finally in his hands. It wasn’t the first time she had seen that grin. It was hers, tailored especially by him for every time he felt love bloom in his chest.

He kissed her, fingers touching her neck as the ropes touched the bare flesh of her chest and shoulders, teasing lightly. She shivered again, unable to conceal it as it rattled past her throat and stuttered against his lips. His grin grew.

‘Just the hands.’ She told Owen, blue eyes still wide as she held out her wrist again, elbows connected. She was uncertain, insisting that she wanted this as her hands shook. Owen nodded, accepting her conditions albeit surprised she wanted her hands confined. He kissed her softly, lips lingering as a hand reached around her back to unzip her dress. It fell to the floor in a silk puddle, Claire’s fingers twitching with a want to pick it up before it got damaged. Owen kicked it aside, mentally telling himself he’d pay for the dry cleaning and anything else it needed.

He bent, kneeling on the floor to remove each foot from her silver pumps sad to see them go but concerned about the state of their floors and the potential she had in twisting her ankle.

Owen traced the ropes over her body, accidentally at first before returning to touch it over her middle, not missing the way her muscles jumped before he caressed her sides and slid the ropes up her back. She was trembling, fear gone as lust pooled in her eyes. She tilted her head, neck bare to him as he placed a kiss on the cut of her chin, teasing but not giving.

She had gone underwear-less, Owen forgetting that small detail in the minutes since they had returned home, his heart in his throat as he grinned at her, humour developing into a smirk. His fingers found her elbows, tapping at the joint there as she returned her arms to their waiting position.

He was quick to bind her hands. An expert as he tugged to ensure the double column tie was done properly. Her wrists were facing each other, palms flat despite her movement being free. She could articulate movement in her fingers and her wrists, just couldn’t separate beyond where her radius and ulna met metacarpals. The tie was long, Owen wrapping the ropes several inches up her forearm. ‘You okay?’ He asked her, Claire’s eyes staring intensely at the beige coloured rope against her lily white skin. She nodded. ‘Good girl.’ He said it again, loving the way her lips parted, breath sliding between her lips.

This was his reward but he was focusing wholly on her.

He took a step back, eyeing the canopy above her bed. Owen would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of this before. Her apartment was the first real place she lived after college before Masrani swooped her up and moved her to Isla Nublar. She kept it along with the furniture that twenty-year-old Claire moved out of home with unable to afford anything new. The canopy bed was one of those things, Claire no longer in love with it like she had been as a younger woman. She promised him she was going to redecorate the space. Owen was going to be sad to see it go.

He flung the ropes around the top of the canopy, catching them on the other side as he pulled. Claire’s arms raised, body following the strength of his tug as he encouraged her arms above her head, thankful for the height of the canopy. She squeaked when he kept pulling, her body stretching until she was left to stand only on the balls of her feet.

Owen pulled the rope tight one last time before tying it off on the bedpost and coming back to stand in front of her. He bent at the waist, hand lingering between her knees, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, jacket discarded the second they stepped in the door. He tapped at her knees, encouraging her to spread them as Claire wordlessly did as she was told.

She stood before him, stretched, arms raised above her head, breasts rising up to meet him with the natural pull of her muscular tissue. Her stomach was smooth, edges of her ribs showing with the pull as her legs stood long and strong, trying not to twitch.

Now that he had her almost exactly how he wanted her, Owen didn’t know where to start. She was a dessert buffet waiting for him to take a bite of each offered treat as she watched him with burning eyes, breathing already laboured.

He kissed her with everything he had, thanking her without the words for the trust she was giving him. His large hands encompassed the swell of her breasts as he tore his mouth from hers to take an erect nipple between his lips. Claire sighed, sound stuttering from her chest as she squeezed and nipped, tongue flicking at her sensitive nub. He worked her skin until she whimpered, body trying to arch into his as Owen’s mouth disconnected from her breast with a steady  _pop_. He kissed a trail from one peak to the next, taking his time as he revelled in the sounds she made, her body almost swaying.

His tongue was hot, inquisitive, rolling around her areola working her up before he gave her what she wanted, tongue flicking at her nipple, pinching the other between his fingers at the same time. Her body rocked, feet losing purchase on the wooden floors for a second as Owen pulled away, letting Claire steady herself as she whimpered at the loss of contact.

He grinned, kiss placed in the valley of her chest as he lowered himself to his knees, nipping at the smooth underside of her breast just to tease. Owen kissed his way down her stomach, his hands lingering behind her knees, cupping her calves as he zigzagged fat kisses across her skin. He stopped when his lips graced the soft curls between her hips. His hands rose, sliding up the backs of her legs and over the curve of her ass before he gripped down, squeezing at the soft flesh of her ass.

Owen pulled away. ‘Shibari holds aren’t always made to restrict movement as severe as your wrists.’ He told her, looking up to find Claire staring down at him. Lust twisted in his gut. She was meeting him with everything he threw at her, calm and collected, willing to participate fully. ‘Can I show you?’ He asked, a hand leaving her ass to reach for the extra pile of rope he had grabbed just in case, coils sitting on the floor by his hip.

Claire bit her lip, cheeks flushed beyond her make-up as she batted thick eyelashes at him. Her hair was falling loose, head pressed between her arms as an orange strand hung forward. He wanted to stand, to curl her hair around his fingers and kiss her until they were both numb. But, she was giving him this opportunity and there was no way he was going to let it pass him by.

Her nod was all he needed, perfect teeth pressed into her plump lip as she held his gaze. He kissed her hip, lips against the bone there before he reached for the ropes and started wrapping them around her waist. The drum harness was relatively simple for his taste but borderline advanced enough to be a little on the edge for Claire. He looped the rope around her hips and down her legs to squeeze gently around her thighs, skipping the mental step that let the rope sit between her legs, knot tied at the right length to press against her clit. It might have been too much for her and besides, he had other plans. Owen didn’t tighten the ropes as much as he was used to, leaving Claire some space to breathe and saving her soft skin from being marked too harshly. The ropes zigzagged from the top of the harness to the rings around her upper thighs, creating a pattern and further solidifying the structure. She hissed every time he pulled the rope around her thigh, his hand grazing past her sex or getting close enough that her body jumped with want. He had barely touched her, not as much as their usual foreplay and she was whimpering in anticipation.  

‘How’s that feel?’ Owen asked, happy with his handy work as he rested one large hand on her hip, the other sitting on the inside of her knee.

‘Good.’ Claire whispered, barely able to find her voice as Owen’s hand pushed at her hip encouraging her body to move as he watched the rope tighten around her shifting skin. She sighed, sound following a small gasp.

Owen grinned, head tilted back to look at her. There was so much trust in her eyes, confidence building as she smiled at him sweetly. He wondered if she knew their night would end here, sex was on the cards but had Claire thought he would have her tied and bound by the end of the evening? His smile was slow, growing as he watched her breathe. Owen’s voice dropped an octave, bedroom voice in full force as it rumbled in his chest, practically vibrating through his hands. ‘You’re such a good girl, babe.’ His hand disappeared from her knee before it resurged between her legs, catching Claire off guard as a thick finger slid through her folds before rolling around her clit in a painfully slow swirling motion.

Her body lurched, curse falling from her lips as he swore her eyes rolled into the back of her head. It took her a minute to recover, Owen catching the twitch in her thigh as he pulled his hand away wondering if he had worked her up to the point that one touch had her coming. She was too quite for that to have been a real orgasm but every other part of her body told him she was close. Owen pulled away, hand dragging across her skin as he left a wet line along his path. ‘Owen,’ She whimpered, saying his name and nothing more. He knew what she wanted, her man returning to his full height, hands fiddling with his belt.

She was licking her lips, struggling to keep her feet stable as her thighs twitched and her knees buckled. ‘Shirt too.’ She told him when his belt hit the floor with a clunk. She tried to keep her voice stern but wavered, sound cracking with her demand.

‘How would you like me, ma’am?’ He asked cocky tilt to his voice to match his lopsided smirk. She should not have been the one in charge there. This was his domain, but Claire was the uncertain one, the one who needed to be convinced. He let her have some of the power. What else could she do with her hands constrained?

‘Unbuttoned, still on.’ She told him, the man toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his pants. He left his boxer briefs on, cock straining against the fabric as it throbbed. He was torturing her with delayed gratification, taking his time in removing his clothes. He could do the same to himself. He nodded, accepting her instruction as thick fingers pushed the buttons through each hole until he was done, standing in front of her in nothing but a pair of grey boxer briefs and a white business shirt gaping open its sleeves pushed up around his biceps. ‘Touch yourself?’ She asked quality of her voice caught between a question and a demand. Her eyes weren’t on his face on his freshly revealed chest, instead, she was eyeing off the bulge of his erection damn near salivating at the sight.

He obeyed, hand sliding down his chest, giving her a show as his fingers jumped over defined muscles, each of them twitching as he moved. Owen grasped the hot mass of his erection through his briefs not giving himself the satisfaction of hard pressure. Claire’s teeth were pressed into her lip so hard he was sure she was going to draw blood if she hadn’t already. He wanted her hands on him, missing the soft touch of her fingers in this game of foreplay. His hand retreated back up his stomach before he slid it past the waistband of his underwear, grabbing hold of his cock with a tight hand as he thrust his hips involuntarily. Owen’s moan was guttural, deep in the back of his throat as it vibrated along his vocal chords to touch Claire without his hands. She whimpered, the smallest of moans filtering past her lips in unison with his.

When Claire said he could have a reward, her hands twisted in his tie, he had planned on suspending her just as she is and spending the rest of the night eating her out until she had no other choice but to lift her legs from the floor as her orgasm took over. Exposing her to full suspension without her overthinking it. His plans changed with the way she whimpered and her pale skin, turning pink with heat contrasting against the colour of the ropes. He wanted to be selfish, needed to bury himself inside of her and never return as they chased a high until there was nothing left but one mind.

His briefs were gone, lust-addled mind not noticing that he had thrown them into the midsts of their shared room as his mouth clashed hungrily with hers. She matched his kiss with gusto, the both of them fighting for dominance as their teeth nipped and pulled and their tongues explored the depths of the others mouth like it was a whole new discovery.

She was soaking, thighs sticky as his hand returned to her folds stroking her softly, slowly, barely there at all before he took his pulsing cock into his hand and pushed it inside of her. Claire quivered, her whole body reacting as her head tilted back, stretching her neck for his nips and kisses, moan rippling across the thick air.

He stilled. He legs were unsteady beside his, her soft thigh in one hand as he raised it slightly to allow for a better entry. Nevertheless, her hips twisted, his hand trying to hold her steady as he pulled away from her warmth before sliding back in again. Her reaction was everything, her body responding in new ways, Claire not in complete control. She wasn’t hating it. He took that as a win. Owen tore his gaze away from where their bodies joined, lifting it to catch her eyes rolling into the back of her head, small voice in his mind promising he would be able to try this again.

Claire found her balance, one leg in his hand as she supported her weight on the canopy and hoisted herself up, locking her leg around his waist, pushing him in to the hilt. The ropes on her thighs pulled. He had given her room but not enough to spread herself around the width of his hips. She resisted pulling away, adjusting to the pressure as she focused on the steadily building climax that was bound to catch her off guard if she wasn’t careful.

Owen let go of her leg, both of them secure around him as his hands slid up her sides, one rolling over the curve of her breast again as he massaged the flesh in his hand. Never would he get over how perfect of a fit she was, their bodies made for each other despite the fact that he was built bigger than she was. Owen pinched her nipple, pulling a sharp sound from Claire as her eyes squeezed closed and her mouth remained open. She had committed herself to a long line of small pants and moans, breath leaving her lungs with every inward thrust, climbing higher when he picked up his pace.

She was close. He could feel her body twitching, her panting climbing in pitch as he slowed his movements just to prolong her release. ‘Fuck you.’ Claire hissed as he dropped his head to kiss her collarbone. Owen’s head snapped up, looking at her with wide eyes as he stopped moving. ‘I didn’t say stop.’ She told him after a beat, smile small on her cheeks as frustration blurred in her eyes. She wanted to come, wanted him to stop fucking with her and just  _fuck_  her.

He found his rhythm again, Claire twisting her hips in a small figure eight making him wonder how much the ropes were going to be digging in as she tried to grind her hipbone down against his, seeking out extra friction. Owen moved, leaning to the right as he anchored himself to her, one hand leaving her body as he reached for the rope tied around the bannister. He gave the loop a tug, managing to free it with a few flicks of his wrist as it came loose. He straightened, catching Claire bending her elbows as the rope gave way, allowing to bring her arms back down to earth. She lowered them over his head, wrists still joined, caging him in.

Their bodies were flush with the other, cheeks pressed together while she nipped at his jawline, kisses unfocused as her vision started to blur. Her arms squeezed around his neck, body going rigid as the softest little gasps for breath caught in her throat with an inward thrust one, two, three times before her orgasm snapped, whole body clenching down around him as she clung on tight, hips moving to meet his slow thrusts. ‘That’s my girl.’ He praised, kissing her cheek as her walls fluttered around him. 

It was something else when the coil in her belly snapped, shattering across her body in cool waves set to soothe her skin. Owen always made her hot and bothered, always knew how to wind her up and set her spinning. There was a small thrill in her powerlessness, something enticing in letting him render her completely inactive. She wasn’t thrilled with the idea but it had not gotten in the way of her libido Claire’s arousal spiking the second her feet started to pull off the ground a second time.

Owen swore he heard Claire purr in his ear, her forehead dropping to his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. He wanted to feel her fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck, coaxing out his orgasm but he had tied her hands, leaving him with nothing but the feel of her ropes squeezing against his bare flesh at the back of his neck and against his hips. Each thrust, each movement of her thighs and touch of their bellies caused the ropes to rub against him, setting a fire across Owen’s skin as he chased the feeling course and soft, nowhere near as harsh on his skin as it had to have been on hers.

‘This was supposed to be  _your_  reward.’ Claire managed to tell him, a kiss pressed to his neck. Her touch climbing, lips finding a delicate spot behind his ear before her teeth took hold of his soft lobe. Owen grunted something she inferred as ‘ _you are my reward’._ ‘I should have been sucking your dick or taking it in the ass.’ She told him bluntly, mouth unfiltered.

It  _was_  what she had expected when she pulled out that word in regards to his good behaviour.

Claire wasn’t sure if that was what had pushed him over the edge or something else but Owen was solid beneath her, hips stuttering as he came in hot bursts, his grunt tense and forced against her shoulder.

Owen’s hand found her cheek, pulling her head away from the crook of his neck as he stroked her soft skin, skin bright right. ‘Next time.’ He told her, his words a promise as he gave her a lazy smile followed by a peck on her lips. ‘Lets get you untied.’ He announced, moving on shaking legs to sit Claire on their bed, her arms moving to free him from her hold. She fell back on the bed, breath drifting from her lungs as she sighed dreamily.

Claire held her arms out to him, deciding that he could come to her as Owen knelt on their bed, leaning over to loosen off her ties. He tossed the rope on the floor with haste, attention turned to the impressions on her wrists as his hands massaged the indentations, trying to encourage blood flow that would allow her skin to return to normal. He kissed each pulse point, before letting go of her hands, leaving Claire’s arms to a fall by her sides.

He didn’t want to make her stand to remove the harness, part of him feeling sorry for suspending her for so long. Instead, Owen ran a hand over her hip before pushing at her thigh, encouraging Claire to twist her spine, lifting her hip off the mattress to greet him. His hand smoothed over her hip again before slipping across her ass and delivering a swift smack. She jolted, laughing at the small squeak that escaped her as she buried her face in her hands and the bed linen.

The harness was harder to remove, Owen managing to loosen it off to the point that he could just slide the rope down her legs. He kissed each hip before he did so, Claire flat on her back again as she wiggled for him, teasing smile on her face cute when matched with the flush of her orgasm across her chest and cheeks.

‘I missed my favourite part.’ He told her, pulling the harness down past her hips and to her knees. Claire hummed, unsure of what he meant, face pointed towards the ceiling. She missed her man’s grin, the lust back in his eyes as he leant forward making quick work of burying his face between her thighs. He chuckled when she gasped, body twitching in response as his humour vibrated across her skin, sensation focusing on her clit as the previously satisfied want in her belly reared its head again.

Her hands were in his hair before she could mentally respond, Owen slipping his tongue past her labia for the hell of it, content to explore her body regardless of if she had another orgasm or not. She let him, eyes closed, muscles relaxed as her hands sat in his hair, fingers scratching at his scalp.

‘You know,’ Claire started, voice breathless. ‘I was going to offer to make you breakfast in the morning, but I don’t think I am going to be able to move.’ He chuckled again mixed with a deep hum as the sound made her clench down, legs pushing against his shoulders.

‘You’ll suffice.’ He told her, raising his head to wink in her direction only to meet the roll of her eyes and the push of her hands telling him to go back to his task.

Claire sighed, every nerve in her body singing. He could ask to tie her up again, full body, thigh to calf muscle, arms to her sides and she would agree at that moment. She would make him eat, maybe after they sought out a similar earth-shattering release. It was supposed to be his reward, focused on his pleasure and not hers. Claire couldn’t deny wanting to spend their morning lazing in bed as he coaxed each and every sigh and moan out of her one by one across the hours. Maybe they could compromise. ‘I think we can arrange something.’ She told him instead, waiting for his nod against her thighs before she surrendered back to the feeling. Claire tried not to distract herself from his touch, losing her thoughts to his skilful tongue. She couldn’t help but hope the marks on her wrists would disappear before she had to go back to the office on Monday morning.


	214. #214 - When I Say So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: would you do a fic just as filthy based on a previous HC where Claire fakes an orgasm the first time and the next time they actually sleep together he proves to her he can do it (and boy can he do it!) ;)
> 
> and 
> 
> ANON: please tell me she's bound when he won't let her cum. I'll die happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell from these prompts this is a NSFW fic! And it runs along similar lines as ‘All Tied Up’ so if that wasn’t your jam stay away, if that is your jam, welcome back and if you just newly discovered it might be the kind of jam you like please take a seat and have a good time.

****She shattered his world in a second. It was all fun and games to Claire, a smile on her face as she leant into his side, a glass of wine steady in her hand. Her friend Lisa had been the one to bring it up, a group of them sitting around the table, enjoying the summer night and a friendly get together. Owen thought they would sit back in this conversation and not participate, maybe Claire would reveal something about her college days but Owen doubted it. She was relatively private when it came to their personal life.

The women giggled, sharing stories and nodding in agreement as the men sat there feeling and looking guilty on behalf of their gender, Owen knocking beers with Adam beside him happily admitting that no woman could share a story like that about them.

He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Knew he should not have played cocky. The second he did Claire turned to him, humming around her glass as she said ‘ _actually_ ’ in an accusatory manner. He was already sinking into his chair, skin turning red as worry stormed in his frontal lobe. ‘I faked an orgasm with you, once.’ She tried not to giggle while still keeping her comment light as her shoulder bumped against his a second time.

Owen just wished the world would open up and swallow him whole. Her friends were intrigued, husbands and wives alike as they looked in on Owen and Claire wondering how their perfect relationship had frayed at the seams. ‘God, it was after our first date. I honestly don’t even know how we ended up in bed together. The dinner was awful. We were about ready to kill each other.’

‘Perfect recipe.’ One of the women added with a bright grin, eyes gleaming as she reached towards the cheese platter. Owen had thought the same thing in the moment. Made his move because he knew the sex would be explosive. He had thought it was until this moment.

‘Anyway, I got so caught up in my head about how much I hated him and why it was ridiculous that I was even there in the first place that I fell out of the mood.’ Claire turned bright blue eyes on him, somewhat apologetic in front of their friends. ‘It was two years before we actually managed to make this work, anyhow. It’s not that important.’ He hated that she brushed it off, threw the memory aside when he had held onto it for so long.

Owen was trying to catalogue every time they had sex in the back of his head, thinking back and cross-referencing. She said once. But, he didn’t notice at the time that she had been faking it what was stopping there from being other occasions?

The conversation moved on quickly, someone else sharing a similarly embarrassing experience she had in high school while one of the guys added he was sure his college girlfriend wasn’t into it at all now that he had been privy to these confessions.

Claire was not oblivious to the way her man had tuned out for the rest of the evening. Sinking back a beer or two as he mildly engaged with the male conversation but only when he was specifically addressed.

‘Is something wrong?’ Claire asked when their friends had gone home, leaving a plethora of dirty dishes in their wake.

She stopped loading the dishwasher to focus her attention on him, hands on her hips. He was clearing off the rest of the food. Packaging it or throwing it out, a few pieces of kabana finding the way into his mouth with a cracker or two.

Owen shook his head.

‘I refuse to accept that.’ She told him, crossing the distance between them to slide a hand across his back. Owen didn’t move, just watched her out the corner of his eye, sheepish and cornered.

‘What, it's not okay for me to lie to you about my feelings but you can lie about an orgasm?’

She stepped back. ‘Shit, Owen it was four years ago.’ She was annoyed, tone snapping as her arms flew up in the air before landing by her side again. ‘I was engaging in the conversation.’

‘You obviously didn’t consider how I would feel about that little reveal.’

Claire scoffed. ‘Get over yourself.’ She told him, happily not playing his game. ‘You can’t possibly be offended, Mr Too-Sure-of-Himself.’ He had a reputation when she met him, Owen had confirmed it was true. Womaniser Owen Grady had liked to go on the prowl. With the numbers he had under his belt she was sure the comment would fly right past him. It stuck to his leathered skin, instead, and looked like it was there to stay.

She thought it was ironic that the island playboy, who had finally worn down her defences and gotten curious Claire out on a date couldn’t bring her to orgasm. It made him seem a little less cocky to her, smirk sitting in the corner of her lips every time he started to rub her up the wrong way.

Owen took a step back from her, defensive with his arms crossed over his chest. ‘Bedroom. Now.’

She blinked at him, startled; ready for an argument. He wasn’t arguing with her, just staring her down with deep green eyes and a look that warned her of what would come. She stepped past him, giving the man a flat lipped smile, sure her eyes were challenging him as he fell into step behind her.

‘What’re you going to do?’ Claire asked, grinning at him as the backs of her knees came in contact with the edge of their bed. ‘Make sure I cum?’ She challenged, watching him like he was a predator stalking towards her. She was caged in and there was no way out. Claire should have been scared. If it was anyone else she would have been.

Owen grinned, smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. ‘Trust me?’ He asked, hands finding her hips, pulling her flush to him as he kissed her sweetly, nowhere near the intentions he had for her. There was something else lingering in his gaze, something that Claire had it coming for her. So what if she had said it just to elicit a response from the man. They both knew she said it for a reason beyond engaging with their friends.

Claire nodded. Of course, she trusted him. He had proved time and time again that she had nothing to fear. Owen always had her comfort in the forefront of his mind and even though the look on his face told her that would be thrown to the wind tonight, Claire wasn’t remotely concerned.

She cocked an eyebrow, arch questioning as she smiled at him sweetly her hands flat on his chest. ‘I’m just worried you won’t be able to fulfil your task.’ She winked, teasing, knowing full well that it was a soft spot she should not have been toying with.

The sound he made was caught between a growl and a scoff, Owen’s hands on her hips tightening before he let her go. He stepped away from her and turned towards the closet. At that moment Claire knew  _exactly_  what she was in for. He didn’t waste any time in slipping the Tossa Jute ropes from their home in the closet, sliding them free from the bar they hung on next to the formal suit jacket she’d had fitted for him months ago.

‘And for that, now you can’t cum until I say so.’ His voice was commanding, expression blank with the barest hints of humour trying not to curl at the edges. He meant business but he was trying not to scare her.  

Claire couldn’t deny the shiver that ran through her, mandible dropping as she stared at him. With his back turned, Claire had unbuttoned her blouse, starting Owen’s work for him rather than standing there and waiting for instruction. He already knew she didn’t like being told what to do. Nor did she like standing in that corner in wait to be played with.

He softly frowned to see her shirt hanging open, barely sitting on her shoulders at it gaped, revealing her soft belly and the grey of her t-shirt bra. ‘There won’t be an issue with that.’ She told him, cracking a large smile as her cheeks rounded and she laughed. Owen flinched, hurt. Claire stepped towards him, practically swaying in her steps as she reached her hands for his shoulders and coiled them around his neck, bodies flush together once again. ‘I  _am_  joking.’ She told him, pressing her lips to his as he kissed her back in his usual Owen way. She was still trying to learn how to tell someone she loved them just with a kiss. He seemed to have managed it the first time their lips locked and every time after that.

‘I’m not.’ He told her, grin on his cheeks pressing against hers as she nipped at his lip playfully with a small pout. ‘And these —’ A hand left her hip, raising up to touch the ropes he had slung over his shoulder, ‘— are to ensure you cooperate.’ He knew she would. Claire was nothing but happy to please him. If he told her to jump, she would — in some instances. 95 per cent of the time she would ask him why first. But, in the bedroom where she was his  _good girl_  practically squirming with needClaire would put Owen’s requests at the top of her priorities list.

He had a feeling he’d push her to her limits that night. He didn’t want her disobeying purely because she couldn’t take it any longer. And besides, tying Claire up always added a little more  _fun._ She continued to pout, not upset but playfully provocative. She was pushing him one button at a time.

‘Sit.’ He told her, taking a step forward despite the fact that their bodies were almost one. He did so until she dropped, backs of her knees against the mattress pushed as far as they would go. Her knees bent, one sliding between his legs as she tilted her head back up at him. Her hands were on his belt, fingers pulling it loose as she slipped it off and let it clatter to their feet. There was something in that sound Claire adored, that made her salivate in anticipation despite knowing this was all about her pleasure like it always was.

She found sucking his dick pleasurable but knew Owen did not have that in mind. A voice in her head wondered if she should ask anyway, or just do it, since when did Claire need his permission? His chinos were undone in an instant, greedy little hands trying to find a way in before Owen stopped her, thick fingers wound around her wrists as he shook his head with a click of the tongue.

‘Strip.’ He told her and Claire rolled her eyes. She pulled away from him, crawling to the middle of their king-sized bed. Standing on the mattress she swayed for him, undoing the button on her jeans before wriggling them down her thighs and kicking them to the side.

Owen only watched her, standing exactly where she left him as he ran the ropes through his hands. He had a plan. Claire was sure it had formulated the second his embarrassment at the patio table faltered, waiting for the perfect opportunity to bring it out and knowing full well he would do so the second their friends left. ‘Sit down, stand up, strip.’ She rolled her eyes, mocking his bossy tone with a brave giggle. ‘Want me to pat my head and rub my belly, too?’ She did so without his suggestion, shirt hanging around her elbows as she swapped hands and did the action in reverse.

Owen grinned, sun and stars pressed in his cheeks as his eyes sparkled with admiration. He had an easy laugh, shoulders relaxed like he wasn’t gearing up to cruelly punish her. For a heartbeat it was Claire and Owen, caught in good humour, his chest bursting with love for the woman who stood in front of him, teasing like she couldn’t possibly get into strife. He was thankful that she felt so comfortable around him, that he had managed to harbour her trust unconditionally. Owen leaned forward, reaching for her and Claire complied. She stepped forward, dropping to her knees in the circle of his arms as she lost her shirt on the move, fabric finally slipping from her arms.

He dropped the ropes beside her leg, taking one hand to her hip as the other wound itself through her hair. Their kiss was sweet, playful, Claire tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. ‘You like playing with fire, don’t you, baby?’ He asked, chuckle brushing across her cheeks, their mouths barely an inch apart. She nodded against him, teeth in her own lip now as their foreheads touched. She was playing meek but the giggle that escaped her could not be stopped as she wiggled her hips in a figure eight under his hand their pelvises touching for a brief moment before she pulled away.

He let her press eager little kisses to his cheeks and neck, her hands, guided by his, pulling his shirt over his head and doing away with it. He shrugged his jeans off while Claire — who he was starting to realise was in a particularly bratty mood and was doing away with nipping at his skin more often than kissing — let her hands wander over his ass to squeeze firmly.

Owen’s hand climbed up her spine, undoing her bra expertly with one hand as he raised his eyebrows at her and winked with another laugh. ‘You make it so easy.’ He really didn’t. Owen wondered if Claire knew that. She was by far the gentlest he had been with anyone. Only her. Only  _ever_  her. Claire was too precious to be roughhousing. He respected her too much, needed her to see that her pleasure could be derived from all this and not just his.

She told him he made it easy knowing full well how that statement would go down. She knew how lightly he went on her, how ready he was to stop at the slightest sound of discomfort. Owen read her easily, the behaviourist in him noting when to see her struggling against her binds as a good thing or a bad.

Claire had barely managed to toss her bra out of the way before Owen was on her, pushing her onto her back as she laughed unable to help it. His face wasn’t serious, a wide grin spread across his lips as he pecked hers quickly. His kisses were hard and brief, each a small shot of electricity as he peppered them down her chest, skating over her breasts and to her soft stomach. He continued, pulling her panties down her legs as he followed the fabric across the silky skin of her inner thigh.

He barely slipped her underwear past her shin before he was reaching for the first section of rope. Claire lay back, staring up at the ceiling as he asked her to bend her knee, foot flat on the mattress. He wouldn’t position her — much — Owen liked to ensure Claire still knew she had some control. He bound her shin to her thigh, looping the rope around in thick lines before he reached over for her wrist, taking her hand off her stomach and laying it by her side.

‘Still okay with this?’ He asked, waiting for Claire to raise her head to give him a small nod before he proceeded. He tied her twist in with her leg, fingers brushing against her ankle as he managed another three loops around the thick of her thigh before tying it off. He moved to the other leg, kissing his way from her inner thigh to her ankle and repeating the process.

Owen admired his handy work when he was done. She was tied exactly how he wanted her; wrists to her ankles, knees bent, feet flat on the bed. He nudged at the inside of one ankle, encouraging her legs apart as her skin slid across their bedsheets. ‘You want me to put your hair up?’ He asked, noticing her skin had already flushed. He should have realised sooner, should have fixed her problem before the issue got out of hand. He was catching it now, Owen told himself, that was something.

Claire nodded, quietly asking please as he rounded the bed not before plucking a hair-tie from the top of the dresser. He put her hair up messily, barely a bun before propping her up with a few pillows in the centre of their bed. ‘Comfy?’ He asked, teasing her lightly before he kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’re a good girl.’ He added, sure it was needed despite the lip she had been giving him all night.

Owen returned to his position at her feet, leaving his underwear on as his last shred of control before he settled between her legs, happy to find himself in the cradle of her hips, his lips caught on hers. She kissed him aggressively, fighting for control despite he limbs being tied down. Owen knew, that if she wanted to if she put thought and energy into it, she could overpower him. She’d fall flat on her face but he’d give her points for trying.

He pulled away, crawling down her body to Claire’s slight grunt in protest. He kissed her stomach, scratchy stubble to her soft skin, nuzzling against her a moment before his lips hovered over the apex of her thighs. Claire was squirming already, hips wiggling as she internally prayed he really wasn’t going to tease her.

His touch was light. Bare kisses against her labia, so faint she couldn’t tell the difference from the touch of his lips to the touch of his breath. Owen’s hand on the inside of her thigh stopped Claire from bucking towards his face and taking the pressure she needed and enticing him to get the job over and done with. His fingers stroked her belly, touch telling Claire that he knew what was better for her. He clicked his tongue. ‘Impatience gets you nowhere, Claire.’ He grinned, pulling his head back to watch her breath catch in her chest. ‘You said I didn’t give you a satisfactory experience so I’m gonna set it right, gonna take my time,  _real_  slow.’ His smile grew slowly, stretching across his face inch by inch as he stoked one fat finger up the centre of her slick folds.

Claire groaned. The sound was animalistic in the back of her throat, clawing its way out as Owen swore he caught her eyes roll into the back of her head. They had barely begun and she was already on edge. She shrieked, body jolting, caught off guard when his hot mouth found her clit, sucking the small nub between his teeth before he rolled his thick tongue across her sex. He wasn’t going to let her rest. Not on this one. Owen would keep pulling out the stops, changing his pattern, mouth and hands until she was near delusional begging for the tension in her stomach to snap.

‘And remember the rules, baby, you can cum but only when  _I_  say so.’

Claire whimpered easily. She hated this game before it had properly begun but she wasn’t backing out, she wasn’t asking him to stop.

He let one calloused finger explore her. Stroking back and forth across her rosy pink skin, barely applying pressure as she sighed with each upward stroke. He was working her up too easily, Owen’s grin cocky as he sat propped up between her knees, watching his finger circle around her clit before making mismatched shapes across her labia, his other hand holding her spread apart for him as her thighs twitched around him.

Owen had decided he would work her up slow, hands barely prodding as he traced the shape of her, updating his memory that hadn’t faltered at all in the last two years. She was soft under his hands, muscles only just starting to tighten with each stroke, his hand disappearing to glide up her leg feeling her tendons jump as his fingers skipped past and returned to their place.

She was pulling on her restraints in less than five minutes, hips shifting as she tried to roll up into his touch. Owen only chuckled as he lowered his mouth to her sensitive skin. He settled himself, stomach to the bed linen as his forearms supported most his weight. Owen’s touch remained light but faded in and out of intensity. He teased her with gentle kisses before his lips took her labia and  _sucked_. His hands remained out of it, one flush with the bed as the other threaded his fingers through hers, letting her hand clamp down against his palm.

He almost got carried away. Almost forgot that he was there to delay her pleasure not hand it to her the second her body started to beg. Owen was too caught in enjoying the slide of his tongue across his favourite place, teasing her with easy flicks of the muscle and the pull of his lips.

It was her bated breath, her hesitancy to cry out and whimper loudly into the air of their home that stopped him. She was waiting for him to pull back, waiting for him to punish her and thought that by being quiet he might not notice that she was on the brink. He almost went too far.  _Bad girl_.

Owen pulled away from her sharply, his hand still holding hers as her nails dug into his flesh, biting down as a low keen slipped from her lips. Owen hummed, breath sliding over her pelvis and up her tummy. ‘I think I should have brought some toys over.’

Claire groaned, forgetting momentarily that her wrists were tied as she tried to pull her hands away and close her legs around his shoulders. Neither worked, Owen broad between her knees as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

‘Owen, I swear to god, leave my vibrator where it is or I will end you.’ She warned, tone serious despite not being in a position to threaten him. He laughed, kissing the soft skin of her leg again as he rubbed his stubble against her. Little did she know he already had the box under his side of the bed, removed from her hiding place, batteries replaced and recharged before Owen tucked them away in a new spot he could reach.

He wondered how much he valued his life over the delicious sound she would make the second he touched the toy to her skin. Owen was sure if he held her out long enough and played her right he’d have her blacking out with her orgasm. She wouldn’t remember the threat after that.

He chuckled at her, left hand running up the inside of her leg, bare touches enough to make her shiver. ‘Maybe next time.’ He told her with a wink, catching the hitch in her breath before he returned his hand between her legs.

Owen toyed with her, playing Claire like a finely-tuned instrument until she was panting, whimper bubbling up from her throat. She growled when he pulled back. He distracted her, talking absolute nonsense until her hips stopped squirming against the sheets. When she settled, breathing not quite regulated he slid one thick finger between her folds, quickly followed by a second as Claire’s body tried to arch towards his.

‘Please,’ her whimper was soft. His name fell from her lips, echoing around the room as she continued it in a steady stream, fidgeting under his touch as his left hand reached for her stomach, weighing her down and keeping her still.

‘Hm?’ Owen hummed, the sound half a grunt as he lifted his head to look up at her. ‘What was that?’ He asked.

Claire whimpered the sound a low whine. ‘ _Please_.’

Owen shook his head, his laugh a rumble between her thighs. ‘Oh no, that’s not how this works.’ He grinned, the smile wicked, Claire tangled up in his web and hopeless to leave. ‘You don’t get to say you faked an orgasm and then think I’ll let you cum with an easy  _please_.’ It was exactly how this worked, exactly how he wanted it to end, but maybe with her hands fisted in his hair. He stopped and watched her fingers twist beyond the rope wondering if he should set her free.

He thought better of it for the moment.

‘I was lying.’ She told him.

‘I know.’ It wasn’t a desperate sort of admission. She wasn’t telling him that she had played him in order to see her freedom. Claire was trying to rile him up when she admitted to her friends that she had faked an orgasm the first time they had sex after their notoriously bad date.

He was there. Owen was an active participant in the moment and he knew for certain — although had doubted it for a few minutes — that he had shattered her world into a million pieces. Claire was ridiculously giggly afterwards like she always was every time before turning into a sleepy little kitten, curling up against his side and fighting off sleep.

Owen saw the sneer on her face, his Claire annoyed that he caught onto her trick. She had been trying to provoke him all day. He only played into her games like she gave into his ropes. ‘You’re a bad girl, baby.’ He told her, fingers slipping back inside her and curling forward. Claire’s back arched, the whole body coiling towards his as she mewled to the ceiling, neck straight and bare.

He didn’t let her off easy. Owen pulled Claire to the brink of her climax three more times, stopping just short of her tipping over the edge. He pulled away every time, yanking her from the feeling as she cursed, brow drenched in sweat.

Her pleas rolled between stuttered breaths, unable to fill her lungs completely as every ounce of her pulled towards him and his touch like Owen was a magnet and her only release. He was pulling her in like he always did, whether he was touching her or not.

Claire was panting. Unable to keep her breath as the world above her head began to swim. She couldn’t distinguish his touch. It was one pressure after the other, fluttering in time with the waves pulsing in her groin. He was no longer a thing but a feeling, the thickness of his shoulders between her legs, unmovable as she squeezed down, thigh twitching all the way down to her toes.

‘Please,’ Claire whimpered more clearly than the last. ‘I can’t take it anymore.’ He could feel it, the tremble in her belly, her skin vibrating across her body. Owen pulled back, one last kiss pressed to the inside of her knee.

She whimpered when Owen slipped off the bed, not quite believing the relief her legs felt with his body gone from between them but missing his touch all the same. Claire didn’t watch him, only heard the bedside draw slide open and the slip of metal sing.

There was a tension on her binds, his arm brushing against her leg, the pull getting tighter before she felt a release. Owen’s hand was on hers, grasping her fingers between his before he laid it flat on her belly. He’d cut her free. She waited until the other arm had been done, her fingers touching the backs of the other hand, reacquainting.

‘You want your legs free too?’ He asked voice soft and smooth as honey and just as sickly sweet. Claire shook her head, somewhat feverish. ‘No?’ Owen asked, checking for her answer as she nodded confirmation. ‘What do you want, babe?’ She whimpered. ‘You wanna cum?’ He was teasing her, finger tracing lazy patterns on the insides of her thigh as her legs parted for him once again.

Her whimper was needy, desperate, unable to find the words as she tried to open her mouth around the sounds. Instead, Claire clamped her fingers around his wrist and dragged them back to where she needed them.

Owen gave her what she wanted, giving in easily after tirelessly torturing her. She was putty in his hands, body arching into his touch as she curled her fingers into the bedsheets beneath her, arms stretched wide. He moved his hands, gliding them up the sides of her legs as he pushed them wider apart before he lowered his head to eat her out.

Owen grinned against her, a smile growing wide as her cries turned into breathy moans loud and unabashed. If Owen was even remotely concerned about the neighbours he might have worried that they could hear her. It was the last thing in his thoughts. She was calling out his name when she managed a breath long enough, most of it falling in a steady stream of ‘ _oh, oh, oh_ ’’s as her fingers unfurled from the sheets to tangle in his hair.

Her orgasm snapped, breaking under the swirl of his tongue against her soft flesh. She pulled into him, nails digging into his scalp as one hand let go only to reach for the bare skin of his back, leaving cruel red lines amongst his freckles. He felt her whole body curl around his, Claire’s feet pushing at his hips, her hands clawing down his back as he felt each and every one of her stutters.

He didn’t leave her skin until he heard Claire’s small laugh, her arms wrapping around his neck as her fingers gently stroked through his hair. ‘Are you happy now?’ She asked, pulling away from him as Owen’s teeth grazed up the inside of her thigh. ‘I couldn’t fake that even if I tried.’ She giggled, reaching for him as he sat on his knees, his hands on the tight ropes around her legs.

Owen grinned, flashing his teeth at her before he kissed her slow and gentle. He was the cat that got the cream, glint glowing in his eye as he pulled away from her, hands and eyes focusing on the binds he’d left around her legs. He untied her rather than cutting the ropes, taking a good few minutes to run his hands over each new piece of exposed skin.

It was self-conscious hands that ran over the ridges of the impressions left on her skin, Claire’s fingers dipping into the grooves as Owen’s hands did away with what remained around her wrists, his lips pressing a kiss to each fluttering pulse point as her heart rate dropped and settled.

Claire hesitated, sure that her hands and legs were free before she pounced on him. Owen was on his back in an instant, Claire trying to hold onto his wide wrists as she ground her hips down on his impressive bulge practically ready to burst forth from the boxer briefs that held him in.

It was unsurprising that he managed to take both her wrists in one hand, changing the control between the duo as he held her arms away from his body, Claire still sitting astride his hips. ‘This isn’t about me.’ He told her, sitting up to peck her lips sweetly, her arms caught between their bodies.

The laugh that erupted from her dripped in sarcasm, her eyes still dark and wild but returning steadily to their glassy blue. ‘This whole activity was about you proving something.’ She lent in, nipping his bottom lip between her teeth, power regained as Claire’s playful personality poked through. She was a rare sight but had been in true form that night.

She managed to break a hand free — or he had allowed it — her fingers travelling down his stomach until they stroked at the thickness of his erection between their bodies, Claire nipping his lip as she squeezed the mass. Owen rocked into her touch, lids closing as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He could hear her grin, the stick of saliva as her lips parted singing in his ears before he felt her lips on him again, kissing gently at the cut of his jaw and travelling down, her second hand free now as she scraped her nails over his chest.

‘Just let go, daddy.’ Claire purred, breath so close to his ear it made his whole body shiver, hips bucking as an aftershock to the sensation. ‘I could be terrible.’ She told him, fingers pulling at the waistband of his underwear. ‘I could not let you cum.’ She nipped at his jaw. There was a lilt to her voice Owen couldn’t quite place. It was likely all the lust filling his head, making him see double as Claire pushed a flat palm against his chest, her body pulling away from his before she nipped at his nipple with a cheeky little giggle on her way down to his crotch.

Owen didn’t stop her, only lifted his hips as Claire pulled his underwear away, her mouth already wrapped around the head of his cock, making his vision blur. He couldn’t protest against her, not when he felt that sharp-witted tongue lap at his sensitive skin.

He did as she told him, didn’t hold back, let himself go. The act was over in a near instant, almost shameful if it weren’t for the extensive foreplay he had engaged in, cock twitching with every little whimper she made from start to finish. He was a goner even before they began.

Claire, on her knees in front of him swallowed the sticky ejaculate, grinning at him as some of it dribbled down her chin before the back of her hand wiped it away. ‘Did I do good?’ She asked, leaning in, her lips pressed against his in an easy and familiar kiss as Owen’s hands cupped her head, fingers stroking her hair.

‘When don’t you do good?’ He asked her, pecking her cheeks. Even when she was petulant, she was good.

‘You called me a bad girl.’ She told him, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. Claire hated those words in use together, Owen had been surprised in the moment that she hadn’t stopped to scold him then. He shrugged. She had been bad. ‘I’m not a bad girl.’

‘You’re a little bratty.’ He told her with a wink, a kiss pecked to her shoulders as she moved around him to lay flat on the bed, Owen draping a blanket over her. She was about to protest when he held up his hand, requesting another minute before she chewed him apart for ridiculous language. ‘Facetious. That better, you can be pretty facetious when you want to be.’

It didn’t sound better but Claire took it with an easy nod, grin small as she snuggled into his side, Owen’s arm winding around her shoulders until the both of them were comfortable.

‘I am mostly a good girl.’ She told him, Owen patting her head fondly. Whatever she needed to tell herself was fine, Owen could allow it. The little people pleaser in her pining for his approval.

‘If you say so.’


	215. #215 - Charlie and Cold Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No prompt. Was just talking to @all--the--dancers about Grady bunch cuddles. It’s pretty basic.

> [ Charlie and Elliot content list](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/143039456119/here-you-can-find-all-my-published-pieces-for-the)

* * *

 

**CHARLIE AND COLD MORNINGS**

The weather had chilled, bringing rain to San Diego as the sky grew gloomy. Owen knew it was only a matter of time before it happened. Days like this were rare but they happened none the less, everyone feeling muggy and out of place like the planet they lived on wasn’t theirs for the day.

His chest was heavy, eyes slow to crack open as he heard the soft snore of a child before he noticed she was there. It didn’t surprise him that it was hard to breathe. Charlie was sprawled across his chest, little girl dead weight at seven-years-old and fast asleep on top of him.

Owen flexed his hand, searching for his fingers as he tried to raise his arm. It was stuck, caught around another body as he turned to spot his wife curled into his side, forehead pressed to his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his, fingers poking at the inside of his elbow as Elliot laid between both of their bodies.

It must have rained overnight or started to drizzle in the early hours of the morning. Their bed was no stranger to little bodies but was prone to attracting them when the skies opened up and let the rain fall. Like his girls could sense it in their sleep, little minds waking to cross the hall and climb into his king-sized bed just so they could take up all of his personal space. It was that or the fact that he had sent them away in a mild panic the night before, their mom unwell and Owen unsure of what to do.

The kicker; Owen didn’t mind one bit. Despite the stiff arm and sore back he loved waking with his bed full, knew the days were numbered before his daughters didn’t think it was  _cool_  to cuddle mom and dad. Owen would take it while he could get it, committing each and every morning to his memory and hoping it would last forever.

He shifted slightly, leaning his body a little closer to Claire’s as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, a second against Elliot’s blonde hair before a third just managed to reach Charlie. He watched them all, catching the rise and fall of their lungs as his line of sight managed to spot the bare skin of his wife’s hip sliding down into her stomach. Elliot had managed to wrestle her arm under her mother’s shirt in her sleep, not an uncommon move for the possessive two-year-old, her fingers poking out the top of Claire’s collar to sit just under his wife’s chin. It was an illusion that told him he could see a difference. That there was something changing in her body already, stomach rounding. She had taken a pregnancy test the night before, sitting on their bathroom floor practically immobile she was so ill. The positive had surprised them both and had not quelled her queasiness.

It was still stumping him that she was pregnant. Fingers and mind twitching in awe. Owen didn’t want to take his hands off her. He wanted to wrap her in a bubble until that baby was born, their bed filled with three little lives in the during of mid-morning on a rainy San Diego Friday.

She stirred next to him, body stretching like a cat, subconscious understanding that the children surrounded them. She didn’t move too suddenly or too far, only stretched out her muscles before pulling herself back into her position. ‘Go back to sleep.’ She mumbled, eyes still closed, her voice scratchy and unused. Her fingers squeezed his arm where her hand lay, body curling closer to his.

‘I gotta go to work, Claire.’ He told her, aching to wrap his arms around her shoulders to pull her flush with his side. He had to live with her grip on his arm.

His wife shook her head, fingers squeezing his skin again as Charlie grunted on his chest, sighing in her sleep before settling again. ‘I called the zoo already.’ She told him like a blessing from the heavens, her lips pursed against his arm. ‘Now don’t wake my babies.’ She warned him with a light grumble, hand squeezing his bicep again.

Owen nodded, small noise his sound of compliance as he raised his right arm, the only limb that was free from bodies, and dropped it softly to Charlie’s back, rubbing a small circle across the expanse of her pyjama shirt. The girl didn’t wake but her body relaxed further, turning into liquid as his eldest daughter continued to snooze on his chest.

Elliot kept on snoring, thumb in her mouth allowing sleepy little sounds to drift across the room. Owen used it to soothe himself, trying to slide right back into the warm dreamland his daughters and wife occupied.

He sighed, one deep breath in and another out as his mind settled. No matter what was happening, Owen knew he could rest easy. Claire had his back even when it concerned calling into work for a sick day purely so he could laze in bed with his daughters. He knew that Ellie would eventually wake, eyes partly closed, head caught in sleep as she roused her mother with hungry little hands, the young girl still nursing. Charlie would surely follow shortly after on her own accord or after her sister managed to tangle toddler fingers in red curls. Elliot had a habit of pulling Charlie’s hair, tugging on short red strands whenever they were in reach. It taught the sisters to keep their distance.

Owen would deal with that problem once it was handed to him, little girls quarrelling in his bed, waking their father from his well earned extra minutes of shut-eye.


	216. #216 - Stumbling Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: Owen and Claire post date, on the island. They aren't together but both end up in the same bar on Friday night, Claire drunk as fuck. And Owen watches her back and takes her home and makes sure she gets to bed and is just revelling in the side of her that's so unfiltered and also sweet how she won't stop touching him and hanging by his side like they're a thing.

She was already there when he arrived. Owen almost doing a double take when he spotted her red hair sitting at the bar. It was the last place he expected to see her slimline pencil skirts and tailored blouses.

It was a marvel to him that she could exist off-island, bunkered down in a greasy bar a short walk from the ferry port.

The bar was crammed for a Friday night. Busier than usual as the music blasted above his head some track from the  _oldies_  station that only reminded Owen of how  _old_  he was getting. It was supposed to be a routine night. Shrugging back a few drinks with Barry, getting a little rowdy with the rest of the Raptor unit and sinking himself into his cold and lonely bed by the end of the night.

Claire Dearing was the last thing he expected. Her posture was sure and right, straight like a pole as she sat on a stool at the bar. She was running the tips of her fingers around the edge of her class, Owen waiting for it to sing with bated breath.

He had stopped in the middle of the narrow path. Somewhere between the clutter of tables by the open door and the beginning of the bar that almost ran the full length of the venue. Barry moved past him as another body followed, shoulders bumping. ‘Are you coming, man?’ Another asked, following the movement of the other’s as Owen’s broad shape blocked most of the path.  

Barry returned after ensuring most of their group found their regular booth at the back of the bar. ‘ _Merde_. What is she doing here?’ His voice was curious, eyes dragging from his friend to the Senior Assets Manager sitting alone at the bar.

Owen shrugged, unsure as he watched her with a twinge of concern. The bartender removed her empty glass and immediately replaced it with another as Owen caught the side of a small gracious smile. He waved his friend off with a small grunt, promising he would get drinks for the table.

‘Don’t forget about us.’ Barry teased, knowing his friend all too well as he clapped a hand on Owen’s shoulder. The other man hadn’t managed to pull his eyes from Claire. He was focused, concern biting between his brows as he took a step towards the bar.

He played nonchalant, not acknowledging her at first but not ignoring her presence. Owen settled beside her, arms leaning against the bar as he grabbed the bartender’s attention. He called out his drink order as she fidgeted beside him, uncomfortable that he hadn’t seemed to notice her yet, the two of them in too close proximity.

‘Everything okay?’ He asked, rolling his head towards her, gaze still concerned as a finger tapped against the bar. ‘I didn’t think you were one to drink.’ Claire looked at him, not entirely shocked, he had given her the time to adjust to his presence, but it wasn’t like this was her scene more than it was his.

She nodded, finger returning to the rim of her glass. It happened from time to time. ‘No tequila.’ She offered with a small self-deprecating laugh.

‘You, ah, wanna join us?’ He gestured towards the group filling one of the back booths as Claire’s eyes followed the line of his movement. She shook her head, that wouldn’t be appropriate, and she wasn’t exactly sure how comfortable she was in mingling with staff that all thought she was some kind of unsocial monster. ‘You sure?’ Owen asked, and Claire nodded. ‘Well, I’m gonna take these drinks over to the guys and I’ll come right back.

Claire stopped him, small hand on his forearm. ‘Owen,’ Her voice was stern. ‘Enjoy your Friday night.’

He shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking alone.’

‘Did it not occur to you that maybe I want to be drinking alone?’

He shrugged. ‘Most people do that in complete solitude, not in a crowded bar.’

She smiled at him softly, not quite reaching her cheeks as her eyes sparkled in the low light. ‘I’m not most people.’

Owen didn’t want to be defeated. It deeply concerned him to see her sitting there by herself, bodies pushing past this way and that as they ignored her personal space. He didn’t want to be the jerk that left her alone only to leave others to prey on her. It wasn’t that Claire was defenceless, he knew perfectly well that she could handle her own, but he didn’t want that to mean that she had to.

He nodded, accepting her words. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us if you feel like it.’ The offer was on the table and he had promised himself he wouldn’t judge what Claire chose to do. He left her, taking a tray filled with drinks towards the group he arrived with, wishing Claire a good night as he did so.

Returning to the group, Owen assured that he had situated himself in a position that left him able to watch Claire. He wasn’t going to be able to relax if he couldn’t keep an eye on her, not convinced that she wouldn’t be bothered by locals and tourists trying to catch a piece of her flaming red hair or the soft touch of her skin.

He tried not to stare at the back of her head all night and managed to succeed for thirty minutes at a time. She was on a possible sixth drink when he noticed her posture had slumped, forearms leaning on the bar, her head in her hand.

Owen tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore her and the little voice in the back of his head that hated seeing her so down. ‘Give it a rest, man, she isn’t going anywhere.’ Barry swatted at his arm, commenting on Owen’s absent mind for the last few hours. He didn’t want to be a buzzkill but couldn’t shake Claire off or the quiet voice she spoke to him with.

He did as Barry suggested. Blocked her out of his head for twenty minutes to engage in a story. It worked. He was still thinking about her but his eyes were drifting across the faces of his colleagues more than settling on the back of her head.

Ashley, a twenty-something, from the veterinary team was sliding closer to him with each passing minute, the young woman practically glued to his side as Owen finished the Budweiser in front of him and told himself it was his last one. He tried to ignore the girl. Told himself she wasn’t there as he looked over her head to where Claire had been sitting. She was gone, no longer in her seat, the only thing left in its place was the glass she had been drinking from, half empty.

Panic rose up his spine. Had someone snatched her? Did she fall? Was she being harassed and just got up to leave? He felt his heart pounding, eyes skimming through the crowd to spot her red hair. He was ready to get up, to push past Ashely and go look for himself when the chatter at the table quietened.

‘Owen?’ Her voice was soft, singing like home in his ears as his panic subsided. ‘Can we go home now?’  _We._  He didn’t miss that. Nor did he miss the way she was loosely eyeing off the woman by his side. He nodded quickly, ignoring the looks from his co-workers as he abruptly pulled away from Ashely and slid out of the booth.

The hand he placed on the small of her back was courtesy, keeping her close to him as he led her out of the busy bar, vowing to himself that he wouldn’t lose sight or contact with her. He was trying to be a gentleman.

Claire tucked herself against him, sliding her shoulder under his arm to press the side of her body flush with his. Owen’s heart stopped, head tilting to look down at her as he blinked unsure if he was seeing and feeling things correctly.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ He asked, knowing that if this was Claire on-island she wouldn’t have broached a distance shorter than three feet. She nodded, her head rubbing against his chest before a loud sigh left her lungs.

He didn’t bother her, just walked, the two of them heading towards one of the last staffer ferries for the night. She was drunk. He knew that from the six drinks he watched her down and the way in which she was struggling to control the movement of her legs. They would have been walking all over the sidewalk if he didn’t have a steady hold of her, his hand tight on her hip.  

‘You don’t think I’m cold, do you?’ She confessed, words slow to her mouth as they waited to board the ferry.

Owen shook his head. She had walls higher than anything he had ever seen and sure, they shared a date that went terribly but he wasn’t about to consider her cold. Claire was a lot of things, but he could see a warmth to her, a side that didn’t want to be hurt. He could hear it in her voice when she asked, concern licking at the edge of her words as alcohol drove them in a small mumble.

They boarded the ferry, Owen following Claire up the stairs, his arms ready to catch her with each small wobble of her legs. She chose to sit outside, on the main deck, wind already whipping at her hair.

She was insanely infuriating. Hot beyond belief. Sexy as hell. Distant. Tough. Protective of her heart. Controlled and organised. There was a mean streak there that made his cock twitch regardless of if it was directed at him or not. She liked an itinerary, liked to know what was going to happen from beginning to end with little to no surprises.

She wasn’t cold.

People just didn’t give her a chance. Claire was a complicated creature surviving on an island with once extinct prehistoric beasts. The weight of the world sat on her shoulders. She was going to be aloof at times.

But, there had been a reason why he initially asked her out on a date. Claire was stunning, which was one thing. He saw a heart of gold that could align with his beliefs so perfectly his whole body ached. She put her walls back up again before giving their potential a chance.

‘Who called you cold?’ He asked, immediately feeling defensive.

‘Simon.’ She answered as she found a bench to sit on.

‘Masrani?’ Owen asked, hopeful as he held his breath, scared that she had found someone else to date and flirt with. He managed to breathe when she finally nodded. Owen took a seat beside her, Claire instantly winding her arm around his, her head finding her shoulder.

He listened to her breathe, mixing with the sounds of the crashing ocean as the ferry whirred to life beneath them.

‘You’re not cold, Claire.’ He tried to remind her, woman nodding again softly. She shivered, and he wished he had a jacket to give her. She wasn’t cold of heart but the night, on the water, had grown a little chilly.

She nodded. ‘He’s right.’ Something in his chest cracked. ‘I am.’ She let go of his arm only for Owen to wind it around her back, bringing her into the side of his body as her knee hit his before she twisted, body facing in as she hooked both legs over his thigh, feet dangling between his legs. ‘If I wasn’t we’d probably be together.’ Her voice sounded somewhat hopeful. ‘Like an actual couple that has sex all the time.’ He chuckled, unable to help it, catching the way her head bobbed against his chest with his laughter. ‘We would. You’d be picking out engagement rings and I’d tell you that I’d want to have a baby before we got too old. We’d argue about how life and work would coexist, but we’d be happy.’

Owen pulled her against him tighter, flat palm against her leg turning into his knuckles as he rubbed straight lines up the outside of her thigh. ‘Nah,’ he told her, scrunching up his nose. ‘You’d get sick of me, Claire. I drink too much, and the girls come first, no matter what.’ He would change all those things for her if she asked but he had to stop his heart from aching. How often did she think about their lives had their date not going so horribly wrong?

‘You’d stop drinking for me.’ She told him like she could read his mind.

Silence washed over them. Keeping them in the dark as the lights of the ferry illuminated parts of the deck.

‘I can’t be everyone’s friend.’ She told him softly, head tilted up to his.

Owen nodded in agreement. Hard-ass was Claire’s game and he loved it. Nothing would get done on that island in regard to the animals if Claire played it soft. Each handler had a mind of their own, thinking their charges were more important than the next. Owen had first-hand experience with that; he was one such handler.      

‘Claire.’ He demanded her attention, waiting until she lifted her glassy eyes. ‘If you were cold, you wouldn’t care what other people thought of you.’ He squeezed her, hoping his words sunk into her addled mind.

She hummed, taking in his words with thoughtful consideration before she pushed away from him, clambering to her feet and rushing towards the deck rail. Owen followed her, on his feet but keeping some distance as the rocking of the boat got too much for her. Claire vomited, leaning over the railing as her gut churned.

‘Whoa there, steady sailor.’ He reached for her, one hand on her arm, the other on her hip. She had started to tilt, hands on the rail, one leg lifting off the ground. It took a spilt-second for Owen’s mind to jump towards thoughts of her slipping into the ocean.

The sound that filtered from her was so sweet it was like the woman had done a complete one-eighty on her mood. She giggled, the sound light and pure as she tried to right herself, one hand wiping at her mouth. ‘You’re the sailor.’ She laughed, leaning back into him as Owen tried to keep her steady until they reached the bench.

‘You’ve got a point there.’ He told her, sitting her down and standing watch.

When the ferry docked Claire was eager to get up, Owen making her wait until all others and disembarked. He wasn’t confident that her legs would make it without humiliating herself amongst the other alcohol filled staffers heading home for the night.

‘What you gonna do?’ She wobbled, trying for her confident self that was fast asleep behind her eyes, lulled away by the swagger of the liquor she was drinking. ‘Are you going to carry me down these stairs?’ She asked, Owen, hovering too close to her as he took the stairs backwards.

Owen hummed. ‘I’m thinking about it.’ His face was drawn, concentration drawn in thick lines. It took the impatience of watching her for Owen to reach forward and lift her over his shoulder with a grunt. ‘Don’t you dare vomit on me, Claire.’

She giggled her response, half fighting his hold until he put her back on her feet, concrete belonging to Jurassic World underneath her once again. She stepped away from him, a little more confident now that she was  _home._  He watched her twirl, arms launched out wide as her heels clicked against the concrete. His fingers twitched in the absence of her body, scared that she would stumble and fall without the steady touch of his hand on the small of her back or holding onto her hip.

Owen wanted to give Claire her space. He knew, if sober, she would be less than impressed with the way he hovered or the way her body returned to his like a magnet was dragging them together. He watched her, smile soft on his face as he followed her movements a few steps behind.

She returned to him when they approached the monorail, without cars they had no other choice but to join the transport like everyone else. She was shy in public, within the scope of bigger groups, cautious that eyes were on her. But, once stepped off the ferry, the port open and empty she felt free to stretch her wings, to turn back and laugh without a care in the world. They returned to the group of bodies they were travelling home with. Owen didn’t pay them any mind. His eye was on Claire.

She had turned her body into his, not facing those around her as she tried to control the sway in her centre of gravity. He tried to box her in, keep her away from the looks and murmurs of staffers that recognised her.

‘What were you drinking, tonight?’ He asked, hand on her forearm trying to keep her steady as Claire blinked up at him with soft blue eyes that nearly made him weak.

There was no wine glass on the bar. Just a simple tall glass one replaced with the other. ‘Whiskey.’ She told him, where the answer had been a whiskey liqueur mixed with coke. It wasn’t the classy kind of drink he would have pegged her for and hearing the word alone was stunning Owen.

The monorail filled, Owen following Claire once again as she chose a seat towards the back and he ensured she was shielded from prying eyes. She switched chairs, sitting beside him as her head found his shoulder.

He was trying to find a way to conceptualise how he felt having Claire leaning on him. Wholesome. Warm. His chest aching with the gentleness she held. It scared him and would without a doubt scare her.

It was a quiet ride, Claire lightly tapping her fingers against his hand just to be annoying, her senses inebriated. He liked this semi out of control version. Loose lips and openly insecure under the scrutiny of others. Owen revelled in it, watching but not touching as they rode through the park, green scenery passing them in the dead of night only illuminated by the monorail’s light.

They arrived on Main Street to be the only ones disembarking the monorail. Claire was on the only person to have the luxury to live within the ease and access of Jurassic World’s epicentre. He followed, three steps behind her until they reached the threshold of The Hilton.

‘Night, Claire.’ Owen spoke up, clearing his voice as he raised a hand to wave goodbye. She turned back to him with wide blue eyes. ‘You want me to come up with you?’ He asked, confused, sure she was able to get to her apartment without any further assistance.

It felt surreal climbing into the elevator with Claire beside him, leading him up to her apartment to ensure she got home safe and sound. The empty hallway was filled with the sound of their steps on carpet floors and her soft breathing, Owen’s head spinning as he followed Claire to the door.

‘Can you tuck me in?’ She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. All she had to do was bat her eyelashes and he was weak.

‘I don’t know how well the normal Claire would like that.’ He told her, woman swaying in front of him as she pressed her back against her door. She blinked, a beat caught between them before she pushed her tongue past her lips and blew a raspberry at him like she was a little girl.

Normal Claire was cold and boring, she didn’t know what was good for her or so drunk Claire thought.

‘Oh, you are too much.’ Owen laughed, accepting his fate as she pushed her apartment door open and led him inside. He prefered to handle drunk Claire in her happy giggly state than deal with whatever wrath her drunk self could throw at him. ‘Go on -- bed.’ He swung his arms forward, hands clapping as Claire dawdled.

He was trying not to pry into her life, his eyes wandering over her clean kept living room. This wasn’t his space and he had only been invited in thanks to the lull of whiskey in her system. Claire, on an average day, would not easily have let him into her home … let alone to tuck her in.

She shooed him away when he followed her up the hallway, insisting that she needed to change into her pyjamas but he couldn’t watch. Owen laughed, gladly turning his back as he returned to the living space and followed it through to her modest kitchenette.

Knowing the kind of headache she would wake to in the morning, Owen fetched Claire a glass of water and kept it in the back of his mind to ask if she had any aspirin lying around.

‘Tada!’ She was behind him, twirling slowly. Her pyjamas were made up of a light grey t-shirt a size or two too big and a pair of patchwork bottoms, soft blue with a few accents in a darker shade. Her pyjama pants, Owen was delighted to find, had teddies sown here and there across the print, like patches he could reach out and touch, the texture different to the body of the garment. It was the  _least_ Claire Dearing thing he had ever seen. He knew the woman could be sweet and soft but the gentle pattern of her pyjamas was completely unexpected.

‘Cute.’ He told her with a laugh, extending the glass of water and asking where she kept her aspirin. ‘I knew you were a nana at heart.’ He told her, following her steps back through the hallway as he laughed at the plain blue slippers she wore.

She turned to glare at him, face drawn in a deep scowl trying to be intimidating but passing for the drunk girl that she was.

‘C’mon, Claire, you’re going to bed and it’s only a few minutes past nine.’ He joked, stepping into her room as he gave her glass of water a home on her nightstand. She crawled into bed, gesturing towards the en-suite when he asked again for the aspirin. Owen decided to leave it be as Claire flopped against her sheets, body going slack with the welcome comfort of her bed.

She was snoring in an instant, out like a light and barely under the covers as Owen tried to lift the blankets around her. She looked ridiculous and he was sure to never forget the night Claire Dearing asked him to escort her home, returning to a crumbled messy pile of a woman who had a little too much of life for the week.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but Owen did anyway. Gently, he leant in, a hand trying to brush her hair back into place as he kissed the side of her head, not missing the soft way she smelt. Owen only wished her dreams were gentler than reality. If not far more forgiving.

An easy  _goodnight_  fell from his lips as he turned and left her apartment without a sound.


	217. #217 - TBAH: Doting Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grady's finally get that baby girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt. Just needed this lil piece of warm and also to post it before I changed my mind on Everly. Y’all begged for a girl in this universe. Though, I think it was just @all--the--dancers ;)

[To Build a Home](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/164020707669/to-build-a-home-whiskey-universe)

* * *

 

The house was never quiet. Not even when the kids had gone to bed. Someone was always crying, snoring, begging for a drink or suddenly an advocate of brushing their teeth before bed (an act they earlier forgot out of convenience) someone’s tummy was rumbling, another was doing summersaults. One child was cold, the other too warm whilst a third wanted one more book or ‘ _just one more’_ cuddle before promising to close their eyes. One child would be fighting with the other, or one had climbed into someone else’s bed. Little feet padded across the hall despite knowing their butts were not allowed out of their sheets.

Bedtime, at the Grady property, was a never-ending routine of up and down the stairs, anticipating needs before they were requested and denying little children right before bed.

For once, Owen was thankful he never knocked down the wall between Bernie and Hunter’s rooms, knowing bedtime would be so much more difficult if the boys had shared a large room. They shared one now anyway, but he felt it was under control in a smaller space.

Marshall and Ryan were three now. It had been a miracle that they slept at all with the noise their older brothers made at bedtime. As a result, their identical twin boys, and youngest sons were known to sleep through anything … if they could get them to sleep that was.

Owen was terrified when they brought their newest addition home that her brothers would be incapable of keeping the volume down low or their hands to themselves. Bernie and Hunter had four years’ worth of hands-on experience with babies thanks to Katie and Nathan’s twins, as well as their younger brothers. They knew the rules. Inside voices dropped down to a whisper, hands to themselves unless asked otherwise. They were helpful little boys, especially Bernard always a step or two away ready to leap in at feeding time or eagerly passing over the diapers when tiny little bums were being changed. Hunter didn’t care so much, but he had learnt the rules none the less – which all went out the window when Marshall and Ryan came home.

They learnt the rules again, an easy sixteen months after their mother had selflessly delivered twin girls for their struggling neighbours. Three years after that, they were set to learn them for the third time, Marshall and Ryan joining the Owen Grady School of Please Don’t Poke at the Baby as brand-new pupils. 

It was almost impossible how quiet his boys were the first night their sister had come home. He could hear the floorboards creak for the first time in years, little voices so low they were non-existent.

When Owen found their bedrooms empty, five minutes after he sent them up to bed, he was not surprised. He was, however, a little surprised to find all four boys sitting around his wife in the middle of the bed, one on each side as Bernie sat directly in front of her, newborn in her mother’s arms held out, head in Claire’s cupped hands, for her brothers to look at. It was Whiskey who had given their curiosity voyage away, Owen’s old girl sitting by the master bedroom door, guarding his family as she always had.

They had each come to see her in the hospital the day she was born, one at a time because Owen was scared four would be too much and he only had two hands. She was three days old, fresh to their house, her first night approaching when the sunset a few hours ago.

His boys were quiet like mice, Owen sure they were holding their breath as they sat on their knees, bodies leaning forward to get a closer look. They were captivated. He hadn’t seen them interested in anything like this, not even the dead rabbit they’d found in the yard, each of them taking turns at poking it with a stick before Owen realised what they were up to.

This was different. Everly was different and Owen could sympathise with each boy. He felt the exact same way, completely drawn into Everly Quinn like she was the first damn person to invent colour. Owen felt love drunk all over again. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t felt like this when each of his boys were born. It was  _something_  to have a new child, a weird feeling sitting on his chest like a piece of him physically changed to find space for new life. He loved all of his boys, heart aching each time they were born. But, Everly. Owen had wanted a little girl for so long he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Owen watched the six of them from the doorway with Whiskey at his feet. Everly squawked unexpectedly. She caught all four brothers off guard as each boy aged from eight-years-old to three jumped in their skin, pulling back just a little before leaning in again. Their mother chuckled, lifting her eyes from her newest creation as she watched each of her boys one at a time, soaking in their uncharacteristic quiet demeanours.

‘What do you think, boys?’ She asked, her smile so soft Owen swore he could feel it like the mink of Everly’s crib blanket.

Marshall was the first to respond, curly blond head leaning against his mother’s arm, his hand in his mouth and blue eyes tired. ‘I love her.’ He answered simply, older brothers nodding in agreement as Owen chuckled, his voice filling the room but surprising none of them.

‘Do you think Daddy’s want for a baby girl was worth it all these years?’ Her question was aimed at Bernie, the only boy who had been there from the beginning.

He took a minute to think about it, leaning forward a little further as he pulled his hand off his thigh to reach inquisitive fingers towards his sister’s ear. ‘She’s just like Clara and Mel.’ He told his mother, gentle hand stroking the small patch of hair on the side of her head. Bernard had been obsessed with the twin girls who lived next door, the girls who coincidentally had grown in his mother’s womb for nine months and in her heart for a little longer. If the eldest Grady couldn’t be found within the confines of the house or their large property bounds, he was likely holed up next door with Katie, Nathan and their four-year-old girls.

‘Evers is a little more special, but.’ Hunter chimed in, six-years-old and confident as he turned to look at his father over his shoulder, seeking out approval or camaraderie. ‘I like her better.’ His statement was a surprise to both parents, the boy was uninterested in babies. He was right, Everly was special, especially because she had swayed Hunter’s heart.

Their second child was the one to sigh dramatically when they told the boys there would be another baby. He had thrown his hands up in the air and let them fall with spectacular force as he grumbled, ‘No more babies!’ The others were excited. It was Hunter they had to warm up to the idea.

He did as his eldest brother did, reaching out a tentative hand as Hunter’s fingers came into contact with Everly’s. Her small fist was curled tight under her chin but did she not complain when her brother, with the swipe of his thumb, spread her fingers out across his.

Owen remained by the door, happy to watch his family – that was now more  _big_  than it had been  _little_  – bask in the comfort of one another. He had pouted and sulked about not having a little girl for years, but Owen never thought it was a possibility. He needed it. Needed something exactly like Claire despite her arguing that the boys were enough. She saw herself in her children, her husband saw her in their children, he just wanted a carbon copy. Claire had joked, when their daughter was born, only seconds old, that she could have blonde hair. Be exactly like her father and nothing else. Owen was willing to take that risk. He had her now, there was no turning back.

He couldn’t wait to see her personality form. Was willing to bask in the baby days despite the lack of sleep, only to cherish it as their  _last_  baby before the years started ageing their children and taking them off to college before he was ready to admit that they had grown that fast.

With four older brothers, Everly Grady was due to be a handful. Owen knew she would be as loud and dirty as the boys had for the last eight years. But, with them out there to keep an eye on her, he had nothing to worry about.

‘Why don’t we say goodnight?’ He suggested, four small heads turning in his direction with wide and pleading eyes. Bernard, of them all, was convinced he could say up all night and watch her. He  _wanted_  to. Owen knew better, had learned his parental lesson that tried religiously to get his boys into bed before they were overtired and grumpy straight on to morning. ‘She’s gonna be here all night every night. As far as I am concerned, you can spend all day watching her tomorrow if it’s what you want to do.’ He teased, stepping forward to slide his arms around Marshall before he scooped Ryan into the other arm, both boys’ eyes almost entirely closed against his mother. The other two followed suit, kissing Claire’s cheek and saying goodnight as their fingers stroked over Everly’s head.

For the first night in years, their boys went to bed quietly. They slept through the night without a noise, no one climbing out of their beds for a midnight glass of water or a sudden urge to pee. Their heads hit their pillows and instantly their minds were drawn off into nighttime dreams of all the things they were going to teach their brand new sister and the games she would one day play when her legs were solid beneath her.


	218. #218 - Bad Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANON: laughing during sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why are all these smutty fics so long lately???  
> this one isn't as hardcore as the others. If they weren't your flavour.

[sex tropes](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/162741341825/tickatocka-some-fun-sex-tropes-laughing-during)

 

 

* * *

His phone buzzed. The simple alert of a text notification once, twice, three times. It was mindless when he reached his hand into his pocket, an impulse born and bred in the technological world responding to the sound and reacting accordingly.

Claire. 3 messages.

His phone had been going off all morning. A message here and there from friends and family wishing him a Happy Birthday. For the most part, Owen ignored it while he worked, but something about the succession in which the messages were sent and the fact that it was Claire had him willing to respond immediately.

He was quick to swipe a pattern across his screen, unlocking his phone in six quick jerks of his thumb as the lock-screen melted into his message chain with Claire. It wasn’t hard to miss the picture message she had sent, Owen almost missing the two text messages that accompanied it.

The first had him twitching, ‘ _I’ve been a bad girl_ ’ stirred interest in his groin. The image followed, simple, surprising and completely alluring. It was Claire, red hair reaching down her shoulders in equal parts, stopping at the end of the image right before he could see the better part of her bare breasts. Head to mid-bicep, she had filtered the image in black-and-white, not that it worried Owen any as his focus was on the thick collar around her neck, shiny against her soft skin. She followed the image with another text; ‘Come and get it, Daddy.’

He grinned at the word she used. Hearing her laugh in his head and seeing the twitch of her lip every time she called him  _daddy_. She used it for the mirth she felt every time it left her lips, comfortable with the term more than  _alpha_  or  _master_. 

Owen didn’t need to be told twice. There was no promise how long Claire would wait around like that for … if she was waiting around at all. The woman was a tease, likely sitting in her office waiting for him to call her from the house, wondering where on earth her teasing ass was.

Regardless, he dropped everything, heading home curious as he pushed harder than required on the gas pedal, breaking a few road rules as he tried to hurry home.

The house was silent when he unlocked the door, Claire’s car sitting in the driveway his only indicator that she was around. He was quiet against the floorboards, heart rattling in his chest as he tried to hold his breathing. He was listening for her, waiting to catch her as she turned the corner from the kitchen or skipped down the stairs. Nothing. He moved, checking each room on the bottom floor, going so far as to poke his head into the garage and leaving no stone unturned.

The first floor void of Claire’s presence, minus one of her handbags sitting on the kitchen counter and her car keys beside it. He took the stairs two at a time, sure he could catch the smell of her perfume lingering in the air as it had come to do, infiltrating their home and promising to stay.

He heard her, knowing full well by now that she was hiding in their bedroom. But, it was her voice he heard, small and shallow catches of her breath. His ears picked up, she whimpered, the same soulful sound she made when he caressed her skin. Three large strides delivered him to the threshold of their open bedroom door. Three large strides and he was there, shoes standing on the line as she came into sight.

Claire looked at him with bedroom eyes deep and dark as the Mariana’s Trench. His cock twitched. She was kneeling on their bed, positioned herself dead in the middle as she always preferred, stark naked bar the chrome gold collar around her neck, buckle shining at him, tempting him if he could focus his gaze away from the hand that sat nestled between her thighs between her legs.

‘You’ve been a bad girl, huh?’ He asked, voice dry, courser than anticipated as he rumbled his question, hands in fists by his side as he took one heavy stride into the room.

Claire nodded, movement short, needy like she couldn’t help what she was doing and desperately needed him. She set this up. Sent him off on his merry way that morning with a travel mug full of coffee and a sweet little kiss. He should have known something was up when she didn’t acknowledge it was his birthday. Owen wasn’t the kind to make a fuss.

Her tongue slid out, tip rolling over her bottom lip to moisten the tissue there, making her skin shine as Owen felt his throat close up. She whimpered at his silence, Owen catching the movement of her muscles under the skin of her hand. ‘Why are you touching yourself, then?’ He asked, demanded, fists unclenching before rolling themselves up again. She had a hand on her breast, fingers biting into her flesh as she alternated squeezing the tissue and rolling her nipple between a thumb and forefinger.

Owen stepped forward, back of his hand swatting at the hand between her legs. She flinched, unhurt, his touch barely there as she dropped the offended limb. ‘Bad girls don’t get to cum.’ He told her, still a growl as she lifted her eyes towards his from beneath her lashes. He couldn’t stand it, the twitch in her cheek and lust in her eye.

Claire’s bottom lip wobbled, a whimper rather than a cry. Her eyes dragged towards the vibrator sitting beside her knee, Owen oblivious to it until her gaze wandered. She had already broken his rule, guilt blending with the flush on her cheeks. ‘Sorry, Daddy.’ She told him with a pout, teeth sinking into her lip.

He groaned, unable to help the sound as a chill raised down his spine, shuttling red hot lust directly to his throbbing cock. This was a birthday he wasn’t likely to forget as Claire batted her lashes at him, desperate and willing. He didn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve Claire Dearing but he was sure as hell thankful that it happened.

‘What’re we going to do with you?’ He asked, reaching towards her as a fat finger hooked around the collar on her neck, sliding under the leatherette material to sit on her soft skin. He tugged, pulling her face towards him.

Claire didn’t answer. Instead, she whimpered, hands to herself as one squeezed at her inner thigh and the other gripped her breast tighter. Her eyes were quick to dart towards his crotch, licking her lips once again as Owen smirked. He knew exactly what she wanted and where he would have liked to deny her for the hell of it, it was his birthday and he wanted the exact same thing.

He kissed her, lips gracing in a loving touch as he explored her mouth like new territory, delicate and fragile before claiming it as his own. Her throat bobbed against the finger pressed to her neck, Owen feeling the vibrations when she hummed. Her chest heaved when he pulled away, the finger slipping from the collar but not before he gave it a rough tug, revelling in the way she grinned, eyes almost rolling.

Owen could have easily asked her to undress him. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory, but he wanted to enjoy her, watching her the way he found her, skin soft and supple, on her knees, legs spread as her belly stretched with every pleasurable tingle that climbed across her skin.

She was salivating by the time his hands reached his belt buckle, eyes black and narrowed in on a prize. Owen could see her fingers twitching against her thigh, eager to touch herself again and unsure if she could reach out to him.

His pants were shucked to the floor, Owen kicking them aside as he toed off his shoes. A beat passed before he removed his underwear, stripping himself of boxer briefs. Claire’s body swayed, small keen falling from her lips as his body lay bare to her, erection standing tall and proud, unashamed as Owen looked at her, dared her on. She could take what she wanted.

Claire met his gaze with curious eyes, teeth still gnawing on her lip before he gave her a short nod. She wiggled forward before dropping to her hands and knees. Owen’s palm found her chin, his touch steady and strong as it smoothed across her face and up into her hair, collecting the strands in a fluid motion.

‘Do I need to start teaching you how to put your hair up?’ He asked through gritted teeth as her warm wet mouth slid over him, taking Owen whole in one go. His body shuttered, sinking into the feeling as he gripped her hair tight and pulled softly. He would never take her control away. Oral sex was enjoyed by both of them, giving and receiving, but despite the fact that Claire enjoyed sucking his dick he wasn’t about to shove her face into his groin and control her from there. There was no fun when she couldn’t have her wicked little way.

Claire hummed, vibrations tingling at the head of his cock, making the throbbing feel like he was glowing. ‘Yes, Daddy.’ Her affirmation was mumbled and muffled, voice caught when she refused to pull away from her task.

When Claire whimpered against him, lips pulling away from his skin, Owen realised that she had snaked a hand back down her stomach to rest between her thighs. She had distracted herself, the pleasure building until her mouth grew slack, mind no longer in two places. He leant over her, one hand still holding her hair as the other smoothed down her back, jumping against her ribs and rounding the curve of her ass. He applied pressure, hand firm. He pulled back, removing his hand from her before he brought it back down with a swift smack, palm to her ass as the sound cracked around the room, Claire jumping as she nipped at the side of his cock, her teeth a small warning.

He did it a second time, revelling in the little moan she let go of on second contact. His hand smoothed across her ass, gently circling her offended skin as he squeezed one cheek before giving her a light smack a third time.

His hand trailed a line up her spine, the pressure causing her back to bend before it ran it back down again, slow and calculated until his fingers found her wetness and slid between the smooth skin of her folds. She purred around his cock, flesh twitching at his touch as Owen stroked her with slow movements, fingers curling to the knuckle inside her as his thumb sat snug against her ass.

‘Why would you be touching yourself when I’m here, baby?’ He asked, voice like gravel as he twisted her hair around his forearm and have it another tug. She didn’t answer, only continued to bob his dick against the back of her throat before letting it go entirely, focusing her attention on the sensitive head, pushing him to the edge.

The position wasn’t his favourite. Owen giving himself into it until he felt a bored itch tick at the back of his mind. He tapped at her, both hands pulling away before he tucked them under her arms and pulled her back up to standing on her knees. Claire grinned, their bodies inches apart as she leant in, hand finding his chest as their lips locked.

‘Happy birthday, baby.’ She told him, smile sly. Claire covered him in peppered kisses, nipping at his lips, his cheeks and the lobes of his ears as his hands wound up her spine. His heavy fingers stopped to swipe the hair tie from her wrist before continuing his journey. Her hair was soft, almost silk to touch as he piled it up and tied it off, keeping the strands off her shoulders and out of their way.

Claire continued to kiss him, giggling against his skin as he fixed the problem with her hair. ‘This was a surprise.’ He told her, hands sliding over her shoulders as his thumbs slipped beneath the collar.

She grinned, bashful and sweet, pulling away from him to study his expression as her teeth buried themselves in her bottom lip. It was an action he adored, Claire Dearing, playing endearing, teeth and lip as her eyelashes fluttered. ‘You’re telling me.’ Came her reply, followed by a light giggle. ‘Didn’t think my day would lead to that.’ A hand wound up the shape of his arm, thumb joining his under the collar as the other took hold of his cock, stroking him lightly as he pecked a kiss right under her cheek.

When Claire went to bed the night before she knew she would be getting up, seeing Owen off to another day at work and would slip over to her favourite boutique in her lunch break, letting him think she had forgotten about his birthday. Claire thought she’d buy another set of lingerie when the realisation dawned on her that lace and satin wasn’t his thing. He hated those tiny clasps and the price tags that generally had nothing to do with him. She paid for her luxuries out of her own pocket. Owen wasn’t allowed to complain. He thought the items beautiful, glorious, each and every one tailored for her specifically like she was the only woman on Earth designed to wear them. His fat fingers had no time for patience or delicacy.

The collar caught her eye not a second later. That was more Owen’s style, tying her up and doing away with her. The aesthetics were enough to not warrant anything else.

‘It was supposed to be for later.’ She told him between kisses, Owen overpowering her as Claire fell on her back.

He smirked. ‘But you couldn’t help yourself?’ In the sheets, Owen found the vibrator she had helped herself too, a flick of his wrist turning the device on as it whirred to life, buzzing loudly in the quiet of the room.

There was a kiss pressed to the base of her neck, Owen’s nose nudging the faux leather as his hand took the vibrator to her clit. His laugh was loud when her body jolted, oversensitive and starved to be touched. She mewled, light laughter following the sound as she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull herself up, kiss deep and joyful as they revelled in each other. She sighed against him, body slack as the pulses from the toy hit a sweet spot, Claire swept up in it for a moment as her hips rocked towards his hand.

‘You took too long to get home.’ She teased, coming back to her senses nipping at his bottom lip before she let go of him, a hand disappearing between their bodies to wrestle the toy from his grip. ‘This is about you, not me.’ He gave her vibrator over easily, chuckling at her angry bedroom voice as he kissed the top of her nose.

Ultimately, nothing was going to stop Owen from putting her pleasure before his own. Even if it was his birthday.

‘I want you.’ He told her, answering everything she knew to be true about him. The toy was gone but his hand was more than happy to glide against her smooth skin, dipping into her wetness as he circled his index finger lazily around her clit, Claire’s hand holding onto his wrist, not to obstruct, just there for the ride.

Her head felt dizzy and her body light. With Owen there was no reality, just the two of them caught floating inches above it, disappearing from the world as they touched each other, building up a high, tempting one another to snap first.

It was a whimper that said ‘ _I need you inside of me_ ’ more than Claire’s words, an intrusive sound that begged and pleaded all in one. It expressed the full spectrum of her need as her body arched towards his, hips rolling, seeking the full friction she knew he could provide. He didn’t need her words, didn’t need to wait for a breathy ‘ _fuck me’_  or ‘ _Owen now’._ Sometimes her hands would find him first, shaking fingers closing around his dick as she touched it against the apex of her thighs, smoothing his skin through her slick folds or lightly tugging until one of them moved closer, bodies finally able to connect.

He didn’t wait, just pushed inside of her, midday sun streaming through the curtains into their bedroom as Claire’s sigh stuttered through her chest, mingling with a heady moan as his thumb stroked over her sensitive bundle of nerves, his hips rocking into her inch by slow inch.

‘You’re too good for me.’ He told her with a kiss on her neck, one hand holding his upper body away from hers as he swallowed back a lump in his throat. Claire didn’t see it, her eyes were closed, twisted in agonising pleasure with her mouth propped open with vocal appreciation.  

‘Don’t you know it.’ Claire fluttered her eyes open under heavily hooded lids, her smile dopey and out of focus as she swirled her hips in a figure-eight against his pattern. Her words were meant to tease but Owen felt a twinge in the back of his mind. She was too good for him. Claire existed on a higher plane than he did and he was terrified that she would wake up one day and walk away from him.

He thrust into her sharp and long, burying himself to the hilt as Claire squeaked with surprise. She grinned, laughter bubbling in her chest again as she opened her eyes to watch Owen’s dark Claire, breath puffing past his cheeks as he moved to nip at the curve of her jaw. Just like the speed of his thrusts, his kisses were sharp, precise, here there and everywhere as Claire’s neck arched and her laughter turned into gasps for air. He grinned, pinching her waist with fat fingers before he trailed his mouth towards her breasts.

She squirmed, her whole body fidgeting beneath his as he pinched her a second time, mouth closing around a pert nipple before his fingers started to scatter, Claire reacting to the tickle. She was giggling, laughter breaking out as he stilled everything but his hands and mouth.

‘Owen!’ She laughed, the sound a shriek as her hands tried to fight him off playfully. She shoved him, fingers scratching along his bare chest making Owen react. He didn’t stop tickling her but managed to slide his hips forward, the thick girth of his cock making her legs fall open as the fight in her died on a shiver and a moan.

His hands stopped, head pulling away from the breast he had been gleefully lapping at just to catch Claire’s eyes roll into the back of her head. ‘You struggling there, baby?’ He asked in a teasing tone, struggling to keep his breath calm. Claire’s lip twitched but she didn’t respond, eyes still closed.

Owen pulled out of her before sliding back in slowly, the rock of his hips gentle. He returned to laving at her breasts when Claire changed her mind, the woman trying to flip their bodies as Owen resisted. He laughed when she fell flat on her back with a  _hmpf._ ‘Sorry.’ He told her with a peck on her nose before allowing Claire to try again, his back landing flat on the mattress as she sat tall in his lap, hips picking up the pace.

‘There’s my girl,’ He grinned up at her, eyes filled with lust as he reached for the collar, fingers sliding between it and her skin, pulling her down to kiss him before he set her free.

He wouldn’t lie still, unable to play passive while Claire had him on his back. Owen sat, spine curved, one hand anchored to her hip, the other climbing up to grasp her breast, He was face to face with her, mouth hot on the side of her neck, peppering her skin with well-known kisses. He knew how to play her, despite the fact that she should be playing him. Their dance was always her, Claire at the centre of his thoughts, his being, his heart and soul. He wanted  _her_  happy first before his chest could beat in time.

He stole the show, changed the setting and often picked the costumes. Even when she felt like she was in charge it was his weighted hands that picked the pace, that held her down or allowed their bodies to roll.

Owen felt like he could only focus on his pleasure if hers was soaring above him. Even when he wound her up to the place where her fingers went slack, her mouth stopped moving while the muscles in her thighs grew tense and her inner walls clamped around the circumference of his dick. He liked it best when he got her to a place where Claire lost complete control, body unable to respond he had sent her into such a frenzy. His needs came after that, while he was revelling in her eyes rolling into the back of her head, her breath puffing against his cheek and her fingers gripping tight to his hair.

‘You’re playing rough today.’ He told her, voice raspy, mouth against her neck as both of Claire’s hands wound themselves into his hair and pulled tight to whatever she could grab.

Claire chuckled, teeth finding his shoulder and biting down. ‘You started it.’ She yanked on his hair again as Owen freed his hand from her breast to find the end of her ponytail to pull on it sharply. Her head fell back, neck bare to him as he hummed his mirth, biting kisses from her jaw to her collarbone as she responded with more tugs of his hair. A single hand wandered, Claire’s nails scraping down his back as she rolled her hips in his lap, trying to find the angle that would set the world spiralling into different colours.

He hummed again, chuckle caught in the back of his throat as Owen swatted at her backside with the hand that had been rolling with her hips. ‘You were being a bad girl.’ He reminded her, mind wandering to the text message that had sent him speeding home. Owen couldn’t help himself if he was being a little rough.

She bit his lip, no kiss, no gentle caress, just smirked with a devilish light to her eye and took his bottom lip tight between her teeth.

Owen growled, sound low in his throat as he felt Claire shiver around him, a smirk growing across her cheeks. He tried to roll them but she caught his hands, fingers interlocking with his grip as she pushed his wrists down against the mattress, hovering over him as her hips swayed. ‘Now, now, Daddy, we don’t wrestle with the birthday present.’ She grinned, mischievous and full of glory. ‘She might not let you cum.’ He had heard those words before, coming from his mouth as he teased Claire, winding her up but not letting her fall. She had the want and will to be just as wicked.

He didn’t test her, only tried to relax, Claire’s hands holding him down as he watched her body move above his, taking from him what she needed so they could both be set alight.

It was building faster than she would have liked. Owen watched her face contort, pleasure causing her to twitch as she mouthed curse words but didn’t say them.

‘Do you want to cum, baby?’ He asked, prying, smirk all too comfortable against his cheeks. When her eyes fluttered open she only glared at him open mouthed and shook her head. The barest  _not yet_  filtered from her lips, eyes pleading as he broke his hand away from her grip to stroke her cheek.

Her rhythm was messy, Claire’s pace hard and fast but not entirely consistent. She was panting, moans falling from her open mouth with every sweet spot she hit. Involuntarily he bucked his hips, pelvises clashing as a moan crackled up her throat, followed in quick succession by a second.

Claire had a tell. Three breathy little ‘ _oh’s_ before she toppled over the edge. Owen squeezed her cheek, thumb rubbing a small circle behind her ear. ‘That’s a good girl.’ He told her, thrusting up again as the third  _oh_  broke from her throat and she toppled over the edge.

He caught her, meeting her sloppy kiss with dedicated movements, his hands on her ribs keeping her upright as her body twitched, one convulsion after the next as her breathing stuttered, smile lazy on her face.

She wouldn’t let him flip them. Claire happy to sit astride his lap, hardness still pressed between her thighs as her body shivered around him. He waited until she started to rock against him slowly, agonising pace making his fingers twitch with impatience.

Claire pulled away from him, hips lifting from his lap as his erection tapped against his belly wet and still rock hard. He feared for a moment that she hadn’t been joking when Claire teased about not letting him cum.

His worry was put to rest the second she knelt between his knees, her tongue licking an easy line from the base of his cock all the way to the head, lapping at their combined fluids. ‘Ah, fuck, Claire!’ Owen groaned, hips bucking as she swirled her tongue around the head before sliding his cock into her mouth, sucking lightly before applying more pressure. She nipped at his sensitive skin, fingers of one hand curled into his thigh as the other reached for his hand, securing fat fingers around the column of her tied up hair. She yanked his hand, pulling her hair for him as he groaned.

Owen couldn’t believe how much she had changed. Just as he sought out her pleasure, Claire shifted, adapting to his wants and deepest desires. He thought she wasn’t cut out for it at first, too sweet, too delicate, too scared to be controlled. Not that he ever wanted to control her but he knew Claire and her insecurities. He never thought she would have that much trust in him. And here she was, pulling her hair with her hand around his fist, readily calling herself a ‘ _bad girl’_ accepting a deserved spanking without a wince and purchasing a collar for herself all to surprise him for his birthday. The shibari was one thing. They had graduated that into their sex life when desired. Claire choosing to add something else to her growing appetite was the greatest sign of trust anyone had ever shown him.

She laved attention to the head of his cock, still tasting herself there as she pressed a small kiss to the tip before sliding him all the way to the back of her throat, her hand squeezing the remaining length. He thrust upwards, involuntarily, partly choking her as Claire pulled back offering him a soft smile. She stroked him with her hand, in short, and quick pumps, revelling in the way his hips cantered.

Claire returned to sucking him off, careful of the way his hips moved. He was trying to control it, but with her hands and mouth teasing a realise from him Owen couldn’t help every little buck he made, groan following it as his hand grew tight in her hair.

He came with a sharp thrust, spurting down her throat as a grunt rattled from his chest as filled the air around him, Claire still sucking at the head of his cock until she was sure he was done. She smiled at him, sitting on the backs of her calves as she wiped at her mouth. Giving them both a second before she crawled over him, leaving gentle kisses up his body before she nestled herself on his chest. With her head tucked under his chin, Owen wrapped his arms around her, thick fingers rubbing soothing shapes across her spine as their chests rose and fell out of rhythm.

‘Best birthday?’ She asked, barely able to put together a proper sentence.

There was a hand tucked between their bodies as the other stroked his cheek, pads of her fingers carding through his stubble as she waited for a response.

Owen hummed, sound low and soft, almost tired like she had interrupted his dreaming. He waited for a beat or two, hands rising from her back to fiddle with the clasp around her neck, loosening the collar and pulling it away from her skin. Claire could feel his grin. ‘Ma bought me a puppy when I was seven.’ He told her simply, arm flopping to the mattress, extended from their bodies as his fingers still held her collar within his grasp.

She grunted. ‘Is that what I am competing with?’

His chuckle was loud under her ear, rattling in his chest with a vibration she could never be sick of. He couldn’t control himself, amused beyond belief until she pinched his side.

‘We’re not getting a puppy.’ She told him with another pinch as Owen reciprocated the action. Claire held her breath for the comment, the one that said she was his pet thanks to the collar she purchased. It never came. Funny, that she had called him that on occasion. Teasing him at inappropriate times where all he had to do was will his boner away. Claire would stoke his cheek, tap it and call him  _‘pet’._

Her eyes closed, focusing on the feel of his hand rubbing her back and his lips pressed to her forehead in a long kiss. ‘There’s no competition, Claire.’ He didn’t think anything would top getting a puppy for his birthday after begging for years. It was a favoured memory, one that never grew tainted or old even after the dog had passed away. ‘You’re everything, Claire.’ He told her, kiss gentle on her skin as she snuggled closer to him.

She never thought she needed that, the affirmation that she was it for him, the universe and everything beyond, his love and dedication unwavering. It made her want to please him more, reach for the stars until he was as happy as happy could be.

Sitting up on his chest, Claire met his lazy gaze, her smile soft as she peppered kisses against his lips. ‘That wasn’t the only thing I bought.’ She told him, eyes diverting to the collar sitting on the bedsheets. Her giggle was glorious, chest moving against his bare flesh on flesh as her eyes sparkled.

‘Oh, you’re a bad girl.’ With his hand at the nape of her neck, he pulled her down to fight her on nips and kisses, each of them trying to claim dominance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claire, in Owen's phone, is saved under 'Claire(bear emoji)' but AO3 doesn't like that and keeps cutting it off. So, fun fact.


	219. #219 - TBAH: It's a Girl!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @all--the--dancers : Owen finding out that their fifth and final baby is FINALLY a girl!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked Majella last week if I wrote one thing that night what would she want it to be. This was her choice. It took me like 5 days to finish it. Whoops.

[To Build a Home](https://poeticandvaguelysweet.tumblr.com/post/164020707669/to-build-a-home-whiskey-universe)

* * *

 

They needed a new bed. Claire decided, thinking to herself as she lifted her eyes from the tablet in her hand. Something bigger than the king they already had, enough to fit another child comfortably and then some. Not that she was planning to fill their bed with any more babies. Her hand stroked her rounding stomach.  _Last one_. And then she could get back to her job and a life free of carrying Owen’s heavy babies in the pit of her tiny pelvis.

Five was enough. Five wasn’t even supposed to happen. They should have stopped at three but when the ovum split, creating to perfectly identical little boys their plans at a small brood instantly grew. Owen got a vasectomy a little under a year ago. Fate wasn’t in their favour when he couldn’t keep his hands off his wife in the advised window leading to their fifth child rounding out her stomach. The vasectomy was supposed to prevent that from happening … Claire still wasn’t over being bitter about it. They were looking forward to another little life. A final chance to kiss those baby years goodbye before they settled into Bernie’s incoming adolescence.

Currently, their bed was full. Bernard, Hunter, Marshall and Ryan all sprawled across the covers this way and that as their little faces relaxed in sleep. Owen was still reading beside her, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he read something about a hover car racer Bernie was enthralled with. It had become a nighttime ritual, Owen reading to his boys, Claire trying to get work done as sleep usually claimed her with the calm of her husband's warm voice.

Her iPad had locked itself ten minutes ago as she watched small chests rise and fall, her twin boys cramped into the space between herself and Owen, their bodies pressed together, thumbs in their mouths. They never forgot that they were twins but it startled Claire sometimes when their minds and bodies mirrored the other. Hunter had set himself up on the end of the bed, stretched from end to end while Bernard occupied the space between his parent's legs were the twins weren’t yet tall enough to fill. He was the only one still awake and fighting it as Owen continued to read about Jason Chaser none the wiser to his sleeping audience.

Bernard was gone within another page, eyes closing and staying that way for good. Claire felt her heart clench, chest tight as she watched her sweet boys finally sit still and remain quiet. The twins beside her were grunting in their sleep but that was nothing to the constant noise that rattled throughout their home. Four boys. She couldn’t believe it. If they had known that’s where their life would have led all those years ago, she would have thought it all an erratic fantasy.

It was true. Owen Grady and Claire Dearing had gotten married, built a home and brought four wild little boys into the world. She knew the gender of their fifth child, wasn’t supposed to but their well-meaning neighbour had let it slip.

Katie had offered to throw Claire a gender reveal party. She was high on the idea, excited and a little mournful that it was the last baby her friends would have. They had four boys and like with each pregnancy, there was a fifty-fifty chance the baby was a girl. It was all Owen wanted, more than anything in the world, was to have a baby girl of his own.

In confirming a few ideas she had, Katie had let it slip. The secret she knew. The gender of Baby Dearing-Grady #5. Claire tried to forget it, tried to pretend she hadn’t heard. But the confirmation had been stuck in her head for two days and it wouldn’t die out.

Watching her boys and listening to her husband Claire couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. The tears burned her eyes, her lungs seized, holding onto her breath a little too tight. He was a good dad. Their boys were noisy but patient, kind, empathetic. They were going to grow into strong young men that would continue to cherish those in their lives. Owen deserved so much for the effort he put in. He deserved the little girl he had been dreaming about long before they met. His dreams had altered, his need for a daughter growing now that his wife was a dynamo, Owen once explaining that he just needed a piece of her that would grow to look and be exactly like her mother. He never wanted the world to go without a Claire Dearing.

She had argued that their boys could do that. She saw herself in their hearts and their minds. They caught his sense of humour but it was her quick wit mixed with it. Claire had warned that there was a chance — if they had a daughter — that she would turn out exactly like her father or be an amalgamation of them both. He was willing to risk that chance.

She loved him for that.

It wasn’t until Owen finished the chapter that he noticed she was quietly crying beside him.

‘Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?’ He asked, all concern, book tossed to the floor with a quiet thud as his hand found her arm over the body of their youngest sons.

‘You’re such a good dad.’ Claire could barely see his face through her blurry blue eyes. A sob was climbing its way up her throat, the woman desperate for it not to break and wake her sleeping sons. ‘It’s a girl.’ She told him so quietly Claire feared it was all in her head. Owen blinked when she did, eyes clearing to catch the shock on his face. He didn’t move. ‘Katie accidentally let it slip.’ The silence continued. ‘You’re getting your baby girl.’ Her eyes watered again, voice wet as a small cry slipped free.

She could hear Owen gaping, mouth opening and closing, unable to find the words until both his hands were on her face and his lips on hers. She didn’t know how he did it with the small bodies between them but he was kissing her, ferociously, their faces wet and tasing of salt.

‘Yeah?’ He asked the only thing he was capable of. Claire nodded. ‘I — I can’t —‘ He trailed off, hands squeezing her face before they fluttered down her arms, gripping here and there. She wanted to remember the look on his face for the rest of her days but Claire couldn’t see him between her tears. She felt his hands, one holding steady on the roundness of her belly that was starting to make her fear their child being another big boy. His other hand tugged at her shirt, pulling it over her prominent bump so his fingers could have contact with her skin. His lips were on her stomach in a heartbeat, peppering all over the way he had done a hundred times over the last eight years. ‘A girl?’ He asked again and she nodded. ‘Claire, I — I love you so much, babe. I love our boys. I would have loved another one. But, a girl?!’ His words stopped, choking sound filtering from his throat before it turned into a cry. ‘I’m so glad we fucked up and got another chance at this.’

She hit him at the mention of their misinformation concerning his vasectomy, her small fist landing against the side of his arm as hard as she could swing. Owen barely moved. Claire hardly cared. She had done the one thing she thought impossible; Claire Dearing had rendered her husband speechless for longer than thirty seconds.

‘Mama?’ It was Hunter’s concerned voice, Claire wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked over at her second boy, sitting up on the end of the bed. She felt the twins stir beside her, their grizzles growing louder as Bernie was quick to follow with bleary-eyed confusion. She couldn’t be upset that they were awake, they needed to be moved into their own beds eventually.

‘It’s okay.’ She told them, Marshall and Ryan wiggling past their dad to climb into their mother’s lap, fitting themselves around her growing middle.

‘You’re getting a sister!’ Owen told them, a smile splitting his face in half as he pushed his weight against the mattress and bounced with complete glee.

‘We were supposed to wait until Katie’s party.’ Hunter told them, confusion knitting itself between his eyebrows, the boy deflated, almost disappointed. Claire nodded, small laugh on her lips. Bernie drew their attention, eldest boy sitting in the middle of the bed, lip curled, fingers pressed to his mouth. His tears were hot and heavy, slipping down his cheeks as his throat crackled.

Claire reached for him, immediately trying to soothe her eldest boy as she asked if he was okay. ‘I really  _really_  wanted a little sister.’ He cried, leaning into Claire’s touch as he shuffled over to bury his head against his mother’s neck. Claire’s hand slipped through his dirty blonde hair, catching the long strands that were in desperate need of a trim. Marshall grunted, elbow sliding back into his older brothers ribs as Bernie shoved him back, quietly reassuring the youngest of his place in the sibling hierarchy. The oldest Grady boy was as rough and tumble just like the others. He started the game, but once the others came alone it was evident to Owen and Claire that Bernard was the softest of their boys. He took his role as eldest seriously and used to nurture his brothers and well as discipline them. However, he wasn’t afraid to get rough. If they hit him, he would hit them back, would yell at the same pitch, would get agitated and impatient all the same.

Owen reached a hand between the two boys, separating their small fight before it got to hands-on, shoves turning into fists until their mother got hurt in the process. He couldn’t count on two hands the number of times they had each gotten a strong fist to the face.  

He was beyond ready for a little girl. Something calm and sweet in the midst of all this chaos.  His body was still shaking with the news. Maybe Claire was right. Four kids were enough. Three was where the line should have been drawn but twins weren’t something he thought to plan for. ‘C’mere, Marsh.’ He reached for the boy, plucking him right from Claire's arms as Owen bounced him on his hip. ‘Are you excited?’ He asked the boy who only rested his head on Owen’s shoulder.

‘Brother.’ He told him, pointing at Ryan who was climbing to a wobbly stand on his mother’s legs, hand on her chest to steady himself.

‘That’s your brother, yeah.’ Owen confirmed, kissing the boy’s head as he held a flat palm out for Ryan, the boy wobbling towards it before Owen scooped him up with his empty arm. ‘You’re gonna get a sister.’ He was crying again, voice unaffected as the tears steadily fell down his face. ‘Do you think that’ll be fun?’ The twins nodded, blonde curls bouncing on their heads as Owen turned to his wife to catch her watching them with awe.

‘We’re crazy.’ She told him, voice quiet, barely there in what had been the snoozy bubble of their bedroom. Five kids. Four boys and a little girl. There had been a point in her life where Claire was sure she wouldn’t have  _any_  children, let alone four with their fifth on the way.

‘You’re just figuring that out?’ Owen flashed her a grin. He was standing by Claire’s side of the bed, a toddler on each hip as he bounced them steadily, boys mirroring each other with blonde heads on his shoulder.

Claire shook her head. ‘Oh no, I figured that out when I let you keep Daisy.’ The cow that was currently out to pasture on their property, happily munching on the grass — and the daisies the boys liked to feed her — often found resting near the fence that bordered the chicken coop. Claire Dearing realised she lost the plot when it clicked that her husband had slowly integrated her life into farm living.

The boys loved it. She couldn’t really complain. That, or as his Mama said, she was so often pregnant most of her complaining was focused on swollen ankles and growing bellies that she didn’t have time to notice he had turned the city girl into a country mouse.

‘We need ice-cream!’ Owen announced, sounding exactly like her hyper boys in the middle of the afternoon. Claire shook her head but Owen wasn’t looking, his eyes were jumping from each boy’s face and back again. ‘And milkshakes! Strawberry milkshakes!’ That got their attention, Bernie and Hunter, on their knees, bouncing on the bed and ready to leap right off it.

Claire’s voice was low when she caught his attention just to level him with a stern look. ‘It’s bedtime.’ Owen laughed, waving her off like all four boys hadn’t just been asleep, almost ready to be carried off into their beds.

‘We’re having a girl, Claire! It deserves a milkshake.’ His face was drawn in serious lines other than the smile her husband couldn’t subdue. There would be no arguing with him.

‘You have to put them to bed.’ She warned. ‘And all tummy aches and tantrums tomorrow are yours and yours alone.’ Owen nodded eagerly. He had already been waiting on her hand and foot since she told him they would be having a fifth baby. Bedtime and tummy aches were nothing new to his routine.

‘I’ll bring one up for ya.’ He grinned, bending to kiss his wife’s cheek as Bernie jumped off the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a heavy thud as Claire cringed for his ankles. Marshall was placed on his feet as Ryan clung to his father’s shirt, refusing to let go while each boy followed him out of the room like eager little ducks. What was better than dessert when they should be sleeping?

Claire sighed, hands running over her rounding belly she had started to think would be another boy. She was going to get up, follow her husband and her sons when the sheets rustled beside her. Hunter had stayed behind.

‘Don’t you want to go make milkshakes?’ She asked, smile soft and encouraging.

Hunter shrugged, fingers twitching in his lap as his mother watched him carefully. ‘I don’t want a milkshake.’ He told her, face almost drawn in a full frown. ‘I don’t want another baby.’ It was the first she had heard those words. At six months pregnant, it was a little late for Hunter to voice disapproval. Claire needed that voice months ago when she wasn’t sure if they were making the right decision or not. Hunter’s disinterest in another sibling wasn’t completely out of the blue. If she had looked, it had always been there. When they told the boys she was pregnant  _again_  he had sighed deeply, disappointed and tired before he pulled away from everyone and went to his room. With four boys, they were already struggling to keep on top of them. Her mother's guilt kicked in, terrible feeling stirring in her gut when she realised they hadn’t been checking in on the boy's feelings as thoroughly as they ought.

‘It’s not so bad.’ She told him, unsure of what to say. Their numbers grew quickly and before now neither of their older boys had protested. ‘You won’t have to share a room.’ She told him, nudging the boys' side and hoping that was enough to convince him. ‘What are you most worried about?’

The boy watched his fingers in his lap, unable to look at her. ‘You’re gonna be with the baby all the time and not us and … and … and we won’t get to see you cause they’re sleepin’ or eating and that uses up  _all_  your day.’ He stopped, breathing through his open mouth as his fingers tugged on the string in his pyjama pants.

He was only three when the twins were born and despite being completely blind sighted by double the number of infants Claire and Owen both thought they managed newborns and their older two sons well enough. She couldn’t quite put her finger on whether Hunter was talking from experience or simply expressing what he  _feared_  would happen.

‘It will be like that sometimes. Babies need a lot of attention especially when they first come home. But, Scooby,’ the use of his pet name pulled the boys' attention. ‘I promise dad and I will make time for each of your boys individually, okay?’ She waited for his nod. ‘If you’re feeling left out you need to tell us, okay?’ Another nod. Satisfied, Claire pulled the boy to her side, giving him a tight squeeze and a kiss on the head. ‘Lets go make sure your father and brothers aren’t destroying the kitchen.’ She gave him one last squeeze before they both got up, Hunter close to her side as they followed the sounds of the blender and laughing little boys.


	220. #220 - Caught Red Handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one word prompt: Naughty
> 
> ANON: "one person meticulously doing something entirely for the other's benefit without expectation or need of reciprocation" from sex tropes.

******CAUGHT RED HANDED**

Game Nights were a no go. Claire was learning that quickly. When the football was on, Owen was tuned out, eyes glued to the screen tension rippling across his back as he tried to use telekinesis to move his favourite players across the field before he accidentally emptied his beer on the rug … again.

Claire either sat beside him and tried not to yawn too many times or she busied herself at the dining table behind the couch, finishing off long-forgotten paperwork or getting a head start on a presentation she had coming up. Tonight, she was sat beside him. They were still figuring out the ropes of their relationship — if it was a relationship at all. Neither of them had defined it. They lived together. Had separate bedrooms, different grocery lists — although Owen often did the shopping for both of them and she paid him back but organising the bills and ensuring they were paid on time.

They had sex. Three or four times a week depending on what was happening in their lives. Sometimes more, sometimes less. They hadn’t put limits on it. Claire let Owen take the lead, allowing him to instigate it nine times out of ten. She was struggling with the term a friend had thrown at her; friends with benefits. She just wasn’t feeling herself lately and the term was starting to bother her. Claire was sure that wasn’t what was going on here. She wished it wasn’t. She didn’t know how to talk to Owen and maybe he just didn’t know how to talk to her. But, she was near ready to admit that if  _this_  — what they were doing — was a friends with benefits situation that something in her chest would shatter and never slide back into place.

She needed to be  _needed_  more than that. If Owen didn’t want her beyond sex than Claire couldn’t believe that anyone else would.

The game was up loud, Owen almost on the edge of his seat as someone or another ran up up the field hoping not to get tackled. She hadn’t seen him all day. Hell, she hadn’t seen him properly for two days straight. Work was picking up for Owen and while Claire was glad he was being given the opportunity there was a selfish part of her that hated that he wasn’t home with her. He was home now, smelling of pure testosterone, sweat and dirt that kept rushing up to her nose with every inhale. It was ridiculous but something about the time apart and having this big man, sitting next to her, filthy from work was turning her on.

Claire fidgeted, trying to ease the pressure building between her legs as she turned her face towards the game and forced herself to concentrate. It was no use. She was like a bitch in heat, ready to howl at the moon and claw her nails into his skin. She wouldn’t touch him. Wouldn’t initiate it. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t come across that needy. He just got home from work. He’d been out there non stop the last few days and if the bags under his eyes were any indicator he was exhausted.

She had a boyfriend in college that hated it every time she kissed him first. Every time she climbed into his lap and ground down. Claire learnt to push her arousal away, turn it off, ignore it until she was called upon. He called her needy, desperate, a nympho. If those words slipped from Owen’s mouth she’d never recover. She was too old to recreate herself once again. But, Claire was struggling to switch off her building arousal eyes wandering from the screen to the side of his four-day-old stubble. Just looking at it, Claire could feel the rub between her thighs and the scratch of it on her belly. Her skin was far too sensitive for Owen to keep up his stubble but she never once complained, happy for the rough contrast that complimented the callouses on his hands oh so sweetly.

Claire caught a whimper building in the back of her throat, thighs squeezed shut as she clamped her hand between them. It was too much. Did she really need him that bad? Two days and she was practically putty just at the thought of him? She shook her head at herself. Claire just needed some space. She sighed, the sound wobbling a little as her arousal tried to whimper. She stepped around him easily, her hand sliding over his shoulder as she mentally told herself she’d go upstairs and put on her pyjamas. It wasn’t going to help, but Claire was telling herself the distance would.

She felt ridiculous when she passed his bedroom door and an idea hit her. Claire entered his room, leaving the door wide open as her eyes settled on a shirt sitting in a heap at the end of his bed. Just being in his room was making her dizzy, the space smelt of him so strongly she was sure it could be bottled up and sold. She lifted his shirt to her nose, taking in the heady scent of Owen, stronger once it clung to his clothes. Easily, Claire shimmied out of what she was wearing, tossed her clothes towards his hamper and slipped his shirt over her head. It was no surprise to her that the man who wore an XXXL comfortably would dwarf her. She had seen it, when they stood toe to toe in barefoot or when he hovered over her mid-coitus. But, it always seemed to baffle Claire when she pulled his shirts over her head and they nearly fell right to the floor again. It sagged to the side, neck wide as it cupped her arm, sitting comfortably as an off the shoulder dress.

It was a stupid move putting his clothes on. Claire knew it. A sly smile crept up her face. She couldn’t outright ask him to help her with her situation … not when the game was on especially. But, it wouldn’t be asking if he happened across her in his room, wearing his clothes. She was only going to sit on his bed, maybe curl up and fall asleep. Then he’d know she missed him and he’d feel bad for letting work keep him away. Curled up on his sheets she tried to close her eyes but the throbbing between her legs only ached harder.

He wouldn’t notice, she told her self, rolling to lie on the flat of her back. He’s too caught up in the game to even move. That man would go hungry before he pulled himself away from the TV set while his beloved team was playing. She could do this and go back to her own room for the night and Owen would be none the wiser. She just wanted to smell him, it was the cause of her problem anyway, the heady scent of man infiltrating her senses at the peak of her cycle. She really was a bitch in heat.

Her hands sat on her stomach, one wandering south, scared that she’d hear his boots in the hall a second too late. That was part of the thrill, she couldn’t deny it. Getting caught. She swallowed, squeezing her thighs together one last time before she let them part, her hand sliding down her belly and pushing at his shirt until she reached the waistband of her underwear.

She shuddered when the pad of her fingers brushed her clit. She held her breath, trying not to make a sound as her hips bucked against the feeling. With eyes closed she stuttered out a slow breath, pushing it past her lips before she sucked in the smell of him fermented in his sheets and the shirt she wore.

When she came it was with a shout she couldn’t help. The sound made its way through her parted lips before she could catch it, muscles stuttering as her thighs clamped around her hand. She stilled, left leg still twitching as she waited for the sound of Owen curiously walking up the hall. Nothing came. Claire righted herself, sliding her underwear back in place as she sat on the edge of his bed and pressed the backs of her hands to her hot cheeks.

She padded past the living room, seeking out the mobile she knew she left on the kitchen bench. He was still sitting on the couch, on the edge of his seat and drawn into the game. She found her phone, checking the notifications in the kitchen before she turned. Claire jumped a near foot in the air when Owen cleared his throat behind her.

‘Hey, babe.’ There was a look in his eye that said predatory as he smiled at her lazily. Claire felt her heart skip a beat. ‘Where’d you go off to?’ He asked, taking a small step forward as Claire took a step back.

Her cheeks flushed, heart pounding as guilt climbed up her spine. ‘I just went to change. How’s the game?’ She tried to change the subject but Owen wasn’t buying it. He shrugged, his team was losing and all the while he was closing the distance between them.

His hand found her hip, ‘Oh, so it’s my shirt that smells like pussy and not you?’ He quirked his lip, eyes gleamy with a cocky glow as she felt her cheeks burn hotter than humanly possible. Claire could barely swallow as she tried to answer, mouth moving, nothing coming out. Owen stepped up to her, toe to toe, chests touching with every inhale, his eyes were drawn down to her hands, his fingers tapping against her wrist. ‘You were touching yourself, weren’t you?’ She nodded, slowly, unable to stop herself. ‘Was it good, baby? He asked her, voice thick as she felt his breath brush across her cheek, his eyes snapping back towards her with a deep green stare. Claire shivered involuntarily. She felt his fingers slide around her wrist, lifting her hand between them gently as he looked her in the eye. ‘Did you want me to catch you?’ He asked, wrapping his lips around the two fingers she had been touching herself with, still soaked with her juices.

Claire’s eyes fluttered closed, her whole body buzzing as his tongue wrapped around her fingers and sucked. She nodded for him, a meek little jolt of her head. She didn’t want to admit it but he had caught her redhanded just minutes too late.

The grip he had on her hip slipped over her ass, squeezing tightly before it wandered inwards, finding her thighs sticky. ‘Naughty girl. You did a bad job keeping it a secret, baby.’ Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and even though she wanted to get caught in the moment she hadn’t intended for him to catch her in a post-orgasm hazy state. They could both argue that she wanted him to smell her. Claire knew, the second she climbed into his bed that he would  _know_  she had been there.

‘Were you thinking about my fingers while you fucked yourself?’ He asked, letting her fingers go with a loud pop as he moved to graze a kiss on her neck. Claire moaned, Owen’s fingers slipping past her underwear as he probed at her sensitive skin. The sound was animalistic, uncontrolled and feral, her body swaying into his as she felt her knees go weak. ‘Claire,’ He stopped, hand pulling away from her. ‘Answer me properly.’ He told her with a stern voice, demanding as her eyes returned from the back of her head.

He knew he had her hook, line and sinker the second his lips locked around her fingers. It was his finger nudging her clit that sent Claire to the white expanse of the inside of her head where she stopped verbalising with him and just started moaning. He’d never gotten her there standing up, usually sprawled out on the bed, clinging to sanity after a second or third orgasm. ‘Claire, babe, open your eyes.’ She did so, with effort, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she looked at him with a glassy stare. ‘Own it.’ He told her, voice rough as he stroked her lightly through her underwear.

Claire nodded, voice raspy as she whimpered. ‘Yes. I just wanted you. It would have been better if it was you.’ He knew, at that moment he could request anything from her. Owen could tell Claire that he wanted her tucked into bed, unable to touch herself until he next says so. He could ask her to bring herself to orgasm once again while he watched. He could have asked her to get on all fours while he pushed his dick against the firm rounds of her ass intruding on territory she hadn’t previously granted him access to.

Owen could have spread Claire over his knees and spanked her and she, at this moment, would have thanked him for it. But, she was squirming against him in this delicious needy way that made his own head swim. Owen didn’t have a want or need for games. ‘Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers or have you had enough?’ He asked with a cocky grin, feeling a little dopey as he anticipated the begging whine and nod of her head.

He wasn’t going to give her what she really wanted, the long heavy strokes of his thick cock sliding into her unless she asked. There was a problem here. His Claire, instead of saying anything, chose to masturbate on her own rather than ask him to help her predicament. Did she not want him? Or had he sent off a signal that suggested he didn’t want her?

He slipped his fingers inside of her, two thick digits spreading her wide her natural lubricant more than enough to provide him with an easy passage. She sighed, a sound that made him feel like his fingers alone were making her feel whole.

‘Why’d you go to your room, Claire?’ He asked, leaning into her, lips nipping at her neck before he turned his gaze on her again.

She whimpered, helpless and needy as her hands gripped hold of his arms. ‘I went to yours.’ She told him, voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her, eyes diverting from his for half a second before she found her bravery. She watched as his eyes grew wide, shining like saucers deep green and blown with lust, Claire feeling drunk on the look alone

‘You what?’ He was almost laughing, shock and glee cracking over his features. Owen took a step back, his hand wrapping around hers as wet fingers left a mark on her skin, Owen tugging her back to his bedroom where he was hit with the heady smell of Claire’s arousal mixing with the smell of him.  

Owen growled, the sound animalistic in the back of his throat as it rumbled across his body sending vibrations straight to his groin. ‘You’re a bad girl, baby.’ He told her, hand tugging on her wrist as he pulled Claire in for a kiss. She looked startled, slightly worried with big blue eyes.

‘I’m sorry — I won’t … I won’t do it again.’ She stuttered, almost cowering from him as Owen felt something in his chest clench.

‘What? No! I’m not mad.’ He tried not to chuckle sensing her concern was not a laughing matter. ‘It’s really hot, Claire. Fuck. I’d have been wondering why I could smell you all night.’ He growled a second time, pressing his body against hers and allowing Claire to feel the hardness of his throbbing cock. Not that he had planned to go to bed without her. It had been two days. He was missing the sweet vanilla scent of her skin. ‘We’re going to talk about this later, okay?’ He wanted to stop, to get to the bottom of her worry but all of his blood was rushing south and he really just wanted to pay her back for climbing against his sheets to get herself off instead of climbing in his lap.

‘Show me.’ He pressed against her lips, catching her bottom lip with his teeth before he nudged her towards his bed. Claire looked at him, wide-eyed, cornered but without the scared look. He could see the nerves making the tips of her fingers shake but he could also see that if he touched her just right she would cum again in a minute flat.

He nodded towards the bed without a word, arms crossing over his chest, shirt still flecked with dirt and grime from his day. She climbed on all fours, long legs bare and stretching across his sheets as Claire settled herself against his pillows. She shimmied her underwear down her legs, kicking them towards Owen who caught them and shoved the small piece of cotton into his pocket. His shirt was covering her, until Claire peeled it back, flicking the fabric against her stomach.

She looked him in the eye, catching the flick of his gaze as it travelled towards her legs just as Claire parted her knees. He wasn’t breathing. They had done this in different variations a countless amount of times and yet Owen was looking at her like he had never seen her naked before.

Her hand was slow, deliberate, gliding up the inside of her thighs as she watched his breathing stutter. She couldn’t help the sigh that fell from her when her fingers finally reached he wetness, sticky and warm as her touch slid against herself like everything had been made of silk.

Owen groaned. ‘Is that how you did it?’ He asked, watching her with a curious eyebrow as Claire nodded with a slow blink. He shook his head, arms falling from his chest as he stepped towards her, one dirty knee kneeling against her sheets. ‘I thought it’d be more like this.’ He suggested, one hand heavy on the inside of her thigh as the other moved straight for her sensitive skin, his fingers dodging hers as he managed to slip one thick digit inside of her. Claire gasped, head rolling as her eyes fluttered closed again. Owen only smirked, pumping his finger out of her as he slid it back in with a second. He curled them, beckoning her orgasm forward as Claire moaned soft and sweet, her pleasure unbearable.

‘I bet you couldn’t do this.’ He replaced his thumb on her clit with the flat of his tongue, as Claire gasped, back arching at his touch as he twisted his fingers inside of her, the hook of his movement catching a pleasurable spot as he toyed with it, applying pressure and backing off in an indistinguishable pattern. He swirled his tongue around her clit, making odd shapes before he sucked it between his lips, his stubble scratching at her skin.

Claire pulled her hand away slowly, fingertips grazing his cheeks as he pulled away from her skin with a pop to chase her fingers. He caught them, taking two in his mouth again as he sucked the taste of her from her, the nail of her thumb digging into his chin. Owen couldn’t care less. She could gouge out his eyes at that moment and he’d hardly care, fingers pumping inside of her, his room smelling of Claire, the taste of her lingering in his mouth. He winked at her when Claire opened her eyes to look at him, glassy and barely there as she offered him a faint and pleasure filled smile. She was going to crash after this, he could see it, Claire, ready to burn herself to the wick just for him.

‘Are you gonna cum?’ He asked her, setting her fingers free as she ran them through his hair and curled in tightly. Owen already knew the answer, he didn’t need her tiny little not or her pant of need. He could hear it, feel it, sense it. Her whole body was quivering around him, leg twitching against his shoulder as he nipped a fat kiss against the soft flesh of her thigh. Her sighs were growing in frequency, her little moans turning into ‘ _oh, Owen_ ’s that barely made out his full name as her grip on his hair started to threaten blood. ‘You can cum, baby.’ He told her like she needed permission.

Claire shook her head, eyes squeezed shut and mouth poised open as she swore, body stilling as her inner walls fluttered around his fingers. She wanted to savour it just a minute more. Claire managed to hold out for a few more pumps of his fingers, her toes curled tight against his sides as her leg twitched like it had a mind of its own. Owen smoothed a hand up her leg while he pressed a single delicate kiss on her clit, calm and quiet like the sky before a storm.

She snapped, hips bucking as he continued to toy with her, his fingers not leaving her body until she had come down from her high. Her shriek was loud, cracking in her throat as she cried out, Owen’s grin wide as he tried to subdue the jolts her body was making.

He pressed easy kisses up her body, ducking his head under the shirt she wore to pepper kisses across her chest, teasing each of her pert nipples and quietly apologising for leaving them abandoned. She laughed at him with a tired voice, pushing his head out from underneath the shirt so she could kiss his face, grimacing at the scratch of his stubble.

‘Was that as good for you as it was for me?’ He asked her, body hovering over hers, fully clothed as Claire ground her hips up into his. He kissed her with fervour, missing the touch of her mouth as she purred against him.

Owen collapsed beside her, Claire easily tucking herself into his side and closing her eyes. He stroked a hand over her hair, revelling in the feel of her sleepy and pressed against him. ‘Owen?’ She asked, quiet and reserved, her eyes still closed as she tilted her head towards his. He hummed. ‘Show me.’ They waited for a beat. ‘Show me how you touch yourself.’ She continued, eyes blinking open, brilliant blue sparkling up at him with a hint of mischief. He was going to wait until she fell asleep before he pulled away from her and jacked off in the shower. Owen didn’t feel like it needed to be about him. He was happy toying with her and letting her sleep before he dealt with his own problem. But, maybe that was part of the issue they were having; not wanting to inconvenience the other with their sexual desire.

They had been living together six months, sleeping together just as long as still, he felt cautious around her on occasion, too scared to push her too far or to ask too much. He knew he was broaching the line that night but when Claire grinned at him, lips curling as she repeated his words from earlier he knew they were fine.

He grunted, both hands reaching to the fly of his pants as he unzipped and unbuttoned before shoving them down his thighs and taking his boxer briefs with them. Owen didn’t miss the catch in Claire’s breath as his cock sprung free, her head still pressed to his chest as he lowered an arm around her shoulders and kicked his pants down his legs with a few sharp movements and the assistance of her hands. Never would he get over those little breathy gasps she made every time she saw his cock or the way she licked her lips.

She took his palm before he could touch himself, Claire eagerly running the flat of her tongue up his palm, lubricating him. He half expected her to stick her hands between her legs again but she didn’t.

He gripped himself with a steady palm, stilling immediately as the sensation washed over him. She had gotten him so hard so fast Owen was still feeling a little dizzy because of it and his skin was reacting accordingly despite the lack of attention his cock had been getting. He gave himself a steady stroke, groaning as his fingers slid over the head. Owen swore he could feel every nerve alive across his pink skin, burning and ready to explode. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slid his hand down. He jerked a few strokes, eyes still closed, head tilted back towards the ceiling and completely unsuspecting when he felt the press of her fingers wrap around his shaft just under his hand.

‘Claire,’ he groaned, not to stop her or warn, but just to say her name.

It didn’t take much before the tension in his belly snapped, Owen spilling his seed over their fingers. She didn’t voice any complaints, just kissed his chest fondly, her lips sleepy against the fabric of his shirt as he moved around her to remove the item he was wearing, wiping their hands across he soft fabric not wanting to get out of bed just yet.

He laid back down, settling against her, arm wrapping around her body once against as he tucked her head back against his chest. ‘What’s going on, Claire?’ He asked her softly, breathing a kiss on the top of her head. Owen promised they’d come back to the topic later and he had no intention of forgetting or leaving it to linger. Emotional issues had a habit of turning into pillow talk.

When she didn’t respond he pulled away to look at her face sure he would catch her crying. Instead, Claire was fast asleep eyelashes kissing her cheek as her plump lips sat parted. He chuckled, unable to help it as her head bopped against his chest. He stroked her hair, hand wandering from her head down her back, brushing against the fabric of last nights sleep shirt.

His chest clenched, affection mixing with something he couldn’t quite name as he looked down at her and was sure, in that second that he loved her more deeply than he had anything else. 


End file.
